


There Was No Word For Heaven Or Earth

by MimiMerlot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut, Spoilers, Strong Female Characters, Trespasser - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 95,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiMerlot/pseuds/MimiMerlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan has left a trail of bad decisions in her wake. In an effort to regain her honour, her family has chosen her to represent their house at the Conclave.  As the leader of the Inquisition, she has been presented with difficult decisions.  Some of the choices affect only her, while others affect a world.  But some, some affect those close to her, and Evelyn finds that those are the choices that matter the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Herald

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fanfiction, so I hope everyone enjoys it. It will be a playthrough. It'll be a bit slow at the beginning, but that's because I really want to establish who this Inquisitor is and lay down a foundation for her motivations and perspective. The pace will speed up.
> 
> I want to say thank you to everyone who has read this work, and trekked through Thedas with me. I appreciate it, and it warms my heart to receive all of the positive feedback. This has been a great experience.

“At once, she said!”

Evelyn watched as the elf ran out of the house to warn Cassandra that she had awakened, leaving the crate she’d been carrying leaking in the middle of the rug. 

She was not facing imminent execution.  That was good.

But what had the girl called her? Herald of Andraste? Evelyn snorted. If there was ever a more ridiculous notion, she was not aware of it. She was not a herald, of Andraste or anyone else. The thought was preposterous, if not heretical.

Evelyn fell back on the bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin.  She might be awake, but she was not ready to face the world.  Not yet.

She had not slept well.  Nightmares of pride demons, shades, and whips made of crackling lightning kept her thrashing.  Demons!  She had fought demons.  It had been worse than anything she had ever imagined.  She’d merely run around, desperate for escape, but there was none to be had.  She shot arrow after arrow, because there was nothing else she could do.  She had faded and dodged and shot at anything that tried to kill her. She tried to listen to Cassandra’s screamed orders while attempting to avoid the elven apostate’s spells.  She had never fought with a mage before.  It was terrifying.  She remembered waving her mark at the breach several times.  Her chest burned, her heart pounded in her ears and she felt blood drip down her body.  She gasped at the memory.

Evelyn threw back the covers and tore at her clothing to look down at herself.  Nothing.  Not a mark.  She had been hurt.  Shades had sliced their talons through her armour.  The first time it happened she screamed.  She fell over as the unimaginable cold coursed through her skin.  She dropped her bow and it clattered away on the stone.  The shade let out its shrill shriek and dove at her, ready to make the kill.  She knew as it bore down at her that this was the end.  She froze.  She simply froze and watched death descend.

Then Varric was there and the shriek fell as a bolt hit it square in its maw.  It hit her legs as it crumpled, and she scrambled backward.  Varric winked at her and promptly went back into the fray.  She thanked the Maker quietly and faded to retrieve her bow before having another try at sealing the breach.

Evelyn shuddered.  That had been close.  If Varric had not been there. . .  She swallowed hard and sat up in bed.  She swung her legs over the edge and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

This was not her first brush with death - the time she got her scar.  She traced the gash across her cheekbone with a finger.  A boar hunt.  Her horse had reared and she had fallen; the boar charged her.  She rolled, but not before a tusk scraped across her face.  The wound became infected, and it took days of a high fever to fight it off.  Mother had been a mess.  It had taken months to persuade her to let her hunt again. 

But this, this was worse.  A hunt was familiar.  Enjoyable.  Sure, there was risk, but that was half the fun.  The baying of the dogs, the trumpets and pageantry, and the brandy around the campfire.  This was not familiar.  Maker’s Balls, this should be familiar to no one!  Demons.  Flaming, snarling, and shrieking demons.  In real life.  In _her_ life.  This was madness.

She would have to write home.  They would want to know she was alive.  She would have to tell them about Emmerson.  That poor sod.  She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard.  While she would never have chosen Emmerson as her future husband, and indeed, he would never have chosen her, she would have been happy with him.  They would have made it work.  There were not a lot of men clambering for her attention.  Not after her short lived stint in the cloisters of the Chantry.  Her father made it clear he would not keep her into her dotage.  He did everything he could to help her, but he held her accountable for her actions. 

Emmerson did not deserve that death.  She had seen the charred remains of the conclave at the temple.  Some of them still burned, on their knees beseeching the sky.  The smell had clung and stung her nostrils, hindering every breath.  She closed her eyes.  She missed him.  She needed his quick wit and ability to keep her centered.  Pressure built behind her eyes.  With a start, she pushed him out of her mind.  She did not have the luxury to grieve.  Not yet.

Evelyn slapped her knees. Cassandra was waiting.  The chantry, then.

She dressed in armor she found in a chest by the fire.  It fit well enough.  Some adjustments could be made, particularly in the shoulders, but it would suit her well enough for the time being.  There was a turquoise and red strappy thing, but she could not figure out how it was supposed to work, so she left it.  It was a shame, really.  She liked the colours.  She ran her fingers through the blonde mess on her head and turned toward the door.

Right then.  Time to go.

She did not move.  She dreaded what was on the other side of that door.  Her last shameful walk through Haven had been enough for her.  She never wanted to have to experience that again.  She stared at the door.

_One foot in front of the other.  That’s all it takes._

She inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.  It took three steps to cross the room and have the door handle in her hand. She pushed.

Two rows of soldiers greeted her, lining the road from her hut to the chantry. She took a step back.  It took her a moment to realize they were saluting her, hand over heart.

This was unexpected.

They had been calling for her head not too long ago.  Evelyn licked her lips, stepped out of whoever’s small house she had stolen and closed the door behind her.  She thought about nodding to the soldiers, but decided to ignore them.  Maybe they’d forget about her if she did.  _If only._   The corner of her mouth quirked upward.

“That’s her!  She stopped the breach from getting bigger!” people whispered as she went by.

“I thought she was supposed to close the breach.”

“The Herald of Andraste.”

Evelyn swallowed.  She marvelled at how they could be talking about her.  This really could not go on.  She had to speak to Cassandra about this herald thing.  This had to stop.  Her?  The would-be cleric who could not keep her robes down?  This was a joke.

Clerics huddled around the chantry doors, all watching her. 

“The Chancellor said that the Chantry didn’t want anything to do with us.”

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard that from one of the younger sisters to her left.  Maker.  This was nonsense.  People could not, should not, _would_ not become cast out of the Chantry because of some misguided – whatever this was.

“Go in peace, Herald of Andraste,” a sister next to her whispered.  Evelyn looked up at that and met the woman’s gaze.  The sister smiled and squeezed Evelyn’s arm.  Evelyn smiled back.

Reassured, she entered the chantry.

She knew exactly where Cassandra was.  She could hear the woman arguing with the ever so delightful Chancellor Roderick.  His voice grated at her.  It had taken every bit of self-control she had not to deck him up at the forward camp.

“So none of you are actually in charge here?” she’d said instead of punching the toad.

“You killed everyone in charge!” he cried in return.

“Killed everyone?” she wanted to shout back.  “Why would I want to kill everyone?  My betrothed – my _friend_ was there!”  She had not.  She choked it back.

She pushed open the door and stood in the threshold as Roderick yelled for her to be put in chains.  She listened in distaste as he and Cassandra kept at it.  Roderick began spouting about duty.

“My duty,” Cassandra spat out the word, “is to serve the principles the Chantry was founded on.  So is yours.”

Evelyn bit back a cheer.  Good for Cassandra.  Of course, the chancellor hated that.  Evelyn leaned against the door frame as the two went on.  Leliana made a face.

“Providence.”

Evelyn jumped when Cassandra slammed that word down.  No.  No.  No.

“The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

“Five minutes ago you wanted to kill me, and now I’m your saviour?” Evelyn snorted.  She raised her hands and shook her head.

And then Cassandra dropped a large book on the table with a loud thunk.

“Do you know what this is, Chancellor?”

Evelyn stared down at it.  Whatever it was, it did not look good.  She swallowed.  What had she stumbled into?  How had she ended up in the middle of nowhere with the right and left hands of the Divine, a glowing thing on her hand, and people calling her the Herald of Andraste?

“A writ from the Divine Justinia granting us the authority to act.  As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

Evelyn barely noticed the fuming Roderick leave, her eyes were intent on the book on the table.  When the door slammed behind the cleric Evelyn ripped her gaze from the tome and looked at Cassandra.  Had the woman gone mad?

“You’re trying to start a holy war,” she said.  She stared at the book.

“We’re already at war,” was the Right Hand’s terse reply.

Evelyn shook her head and laughed in disbelief.  This was ridiculous.  “When I woke up, I certainly didn’t expect this outcome.”


	2. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Cullen.

Evelyn did not share most of the Inquisition’s view of the events in Val Royeaux.  The Inquisition clearly came out on top in that shit show.  The Templar order had muddied its name by assaulting a chantry sister. Lord Seeker Corin’s outlandish proclamation did not help his case, either.  The chantry had been shown up, and this told the world that they had lost all control.  No, it was the Inquisition that had walked out of that courtyard with their reputation, such as it were, intact. 

It was a great boon to have been approached by a merchant.  They now had a bona fide trade route to Haven.  That would help.  More would come.  If there was coin to be had, merchants would come.  And merchants talked.  They would spread the news of the Inquisition and their deeds faster than any of Leliana’s people.

Gaining the prominent Madame de Fer in their ranks was a victory in and of itself.  Having both the Left Hand and Right Hand of Divine Justinia was one thing, but a member of the Orlesian court was another.  It gave the Inquisition a legitimacy they did not have before.  Vivienne’s invitation had come at the perfect time.  No doubt, Vivienne had planned it that way.  Evelyn was not sure she liked the woman, but they needed her.  It was a shame the woman knew it.

The whole affair shook Evelyn.  Everything she had been taught, everything her devout Andrastian family stood for was being challenged.  _She_ was challenging it.  She may no longer be a part of the chantry, but she still believed in the chantry.  Or at least, the principles of it.  Cassandra was right on that.  Scared clerics were not what the people of Thedas needed.  They needed more women like Mother Giselle.

Grand Enchanter Fiona and the rebel mages were still an issue.  She agreed with Cullen about still trying to get the templars on their side.  There was already so much magic involved in this mess.  Maybe they should take a different approach than just throwing more magic at it.  Both Josephine and Leliana would have to work hard to find any information about the whereabouts of reasonable templars.  With Fiona’s invitation it was simply easier to go with the mages.

If she were going to be honest with herself, there was a personal, and more compelling, reason to keep on looking for the templars.  Her brothers.  She wondered where they were.  If they were following that delusional man.  Surely they would not turn on the chantry.  She would have to write home.  Soon.  Today.  She would talk to Josephine about it.  She would have contacts.

A firm knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. 

“Enter,” she said.

Commander Cullen stood in the doorway.  He filled the entryway, the fur of his cape outlined in the sun. 

“Herald,” he said with a nod of his head.

“Commander.”  She set her bow and the oil rag down on the table.  “How may I help you?”

“Would you like to drill with me?  I mean, we’ve received a number of recruits.  Locals from Haven and some pilgrims.” He paused for a brief moment and chuckled.  “None made quite the entrance you did.”

Evelyn flashed him a smile.  “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That,” Cullen agreed, “you did.”

She grinned.  “That’s what I do. Seal rifts and save soldiers.”

“Indeed.  It would help with morale if you were out there with them.  Many of them have never fought before-“

Evelyn cut him off with a laugh.  “Commander, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but neither have I.  Not like this.  Hunting rams for refugees is more my style.” 

She had hunted alone near Haven.  It had been the first time she had been alone since this mess.  The meat had been smoked and sent off to Corporal Vale.  The ram skins had gone to Harrit at the forge.  She filled a couple requisition orders for Threnn, and found Adan’s old master’s notes.  That was the kind of work she knew; understood.  It was useful work.  Comfortable work.  She did not think she would get used to the rifts and demons.

“Yes, well,” Cullen looked at her sidelong, “that may also be why I’m here.”

“Ah.  The truth comes out!” Evelyn did not blame him.  She was a liability in the field.  She could not expect Varric to be at her side all of the time.   “Whose morale are we talking about then?  Theirs, mine, or yours?”

“All three.  You’d do well to take some lessons, the recruits will be heartened to see the Herald of Andraste in their ranks, and I-“ He rubbed the back of his neck.  “We need you, Herald.  I need to make sure you’re prepared for out there.”

“Understood, Commander.”  She bit back a chuckle at the relief in Cullen’s face.  “Let me get into my armour and then I’m all yours.”

“Meet me at the training grounds when you’re ready.  You can start teaching some recruits how to use a bow.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the student?” She arched a brow.

“We can’t have the men think you’re incompetent.  You’re good with a bow.  We’ll show them your strengths first.  Then we can work on your-“

“Weaknesses.  Right.  Got it.”

Cullen winced.  “I was going to use the word opportunities.”

“Same thing.”  Evelyn shook her head with a grin.  “Didn’t know you were such a diplomat.”

“I’m not,” he said.  Their eyes met for a brief moment.  His eyes twinkled, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward.  Evelyn could not help but smile back.  “I’ll leave that entirely in Josephine’s capable hands.  I’ll see you soon, Herald.”

**~*~**

Cullen was barking orders when she got down to the practice grounds with her restrung bow and new druffalo quiver slung over her back.

“There’s a shield in your hand, block with it!  If this man was your enemy, you’d be dead.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” she said as she approached.  She was rewarded with a smile.  She smiled back.  It was nice to smile.  It brought a sense of normalcy to her life.  “Command me, Commander.  What do you want me to do?”

Cullen held a hand up, and turned to his lieutenant.  “Don’t hold back.  The recruits must prepare for a real fight.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Herald.”  Cullen turned to face her.  “Thank you for coming.  The men I want you to drill are over here.” 

Evelyn followed the commander toward a small crowd of villagers huddled together near targets.

“Recruits!” he shouted as they approached.  The men straightened and formed a crooked line.  “This is the Herald.”  Evelyn pressed her lips together to keep her from smiling.  As if they needed to be told that.  They stared at her, not the commander.  “Your training starts now.”  Cullen nodded at her.  “They’re all yours, Herald.”  And then he was gone.

Evelyn looked at the rag tag bunch of men and women standing expectantly in front of her.  _Just like teaching the kids back home.  Start with the basics._ Right then.  She pursed her lips. 

“Who has used a bow before?”

**~*~**

Training had been interesting.  A few had hunted before, and had decent enough skills, so she quickly set them up as team leaders.  She arranged her recruits into four fireteams and had each leader show their team how to string a bow.  Some simply did not have the strength to do it, so she decided to go down to the foundations and started everyone on an exercise routine.

“Every morning you are to do this.  At sunrise.  Before breakfast.  Every evening you are to do these exercises.  Before mess.  Team leaders,” the three men and one woman stood up straight.  “You make sure this is done.  I’ll hold you accountable.”  One man swallowed.  She was going to have problems with him, she thought, but she was going to let him prove her right before she switched him out with the blonde girl in the back.  She did not know the ass end of a bow, but she could do an impressive amount of push ups.  She did not complain.  She was a solid farm girl with a pragmatic head on her shoulders.  The current team leader, Jem, she reminded herself, would be a good lesson for the rest of them.  She got the impression that his experience with a bow came from poaching.  “The rest of you.  You will care for your bow.  You will sleep with it.  It is a part of you.”

She took them through the exercises a second time, much to their dismay, and then had them string and unstring their bows repeatedly.  It was probably not the most exciting day of their lives, but they would not be much use if they could not string their weapon.

Hours later her little troop of archers was dismissed and she was tired and sore.  She rolled her shoulders a few times as she made her way back through the gates.  It had been ages since she had gone through those exercise patterns.  She needed to do them more often.  Those recruits were not the only ones groaning. 

“Well done, Herald.”

“Cullen,” she said as the commander approached her.

“They’re going to be cursing you come morning.”

She grinned.  “Good.”

“You did really well.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”  Evelyn chuckled and looked up at him from the corner of her eye.

“I-  I was not sure-  Forgive me.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  A nervous habit of his, she noticed.  Good to know.  She liked having that effect on him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said.  Teasing this man was too easy.  “I just channeled Ser Broening, father’s guard captain.  The man was made of ice.”

“We’ll need that for what’s to come.  The chantry lost control of both Templars and mages and now they argue over a new Divine while the breach remains.  The Inquisition could act where the chantry cannot.  Our followers,” he motioned behind them at the practice grounds, “would be a part of that.  There’s so much we can-“ He stopped and shook his head.  “Forgive me.  I doubt you want a lecture.”

Evelyn could not help but smile. “No, but if you had one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”  The laugh he gave her made her grin even more.

“Another time, perhaps.”  They stood there for a moment in silence.  “I uh. . .” he cleared his throat.  “There is still a lot of work ahead.” 

As if on cue, a soldier came hurrying up with papers for the commander.  The commander smiled at Evelyn with what she thought could only be relief, and maybe a smidgen of self-satisfaction.

“As I was saying.”

Evelyn watched him leave with the soldier, the two already focused on the missive in the soldier’s hand.   _Maker preserve me, he's got a fine ass_.  She chuckled to herself.   _Focus, Trevelyan._ Truth be told, there were a lot of fine asses around.  The amount of tight leather breeches in Haven was distracting.

Her stomach growled and reminded her that she had missed lunch.  Josephine first.  She had to find out about her brothers.  Then food.  Then write that damned letter.

“Herald!” The quartermaster called as she passed through the main square.  “Good call on those breeches.  With all the recruits coming in, we needed them.  Way better than the piss Seggrit was trying to shove on us.  Where did you get them?”

Evelyn paused and closed her eyes.  That was something else that needed to be settled.  That elf.  “Don’t ask,” she said while rubbing her temple.  She turned toward the chantry. “Oh, and if you see an elf with mustard stains on her shirt, don’t mistake her for a servant.  For your sake.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, everyone. I can't believe how many people have taken a peek so soon. Really. Thank you. Feel free to comment, I love feedback.


	3. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn decides to confess her secret to Josephine, lest her past ruin the reputation of the fledgling Inquisition.

Josephine surprised Evelyn.  She had already begun asking about for the whereabouts of her templar brothers.

“It is essential I know these things, Herald,” she said, brushing aside Evelyn’s thanks with a wave of her hand.  “It is not entirely without motive.  I must be prepared for anything that may be used against us.” 

Evelyn’s stomach dropped.  She knew sharing her secret was an eventuality, but she had hoped against hope that it would not come to pass.  If she were the cause of the Inquisition failing. . .  Evelyn cut off that thought.  She had to tell Josephine.

“Our position is not secure,” Josephine continued, “and we must build a positive reputation.  Which brings me to what I wanted to ask you.” Evelyn held her breath.  Did she already know?  Did Leliana?  “Should we approach your family for their formal support of the Inquisition?”

Evelyn exhaled. _Maker have mercy_.  Minaeve was still enthralled with the fade touched ram’s horn Evelyn had dropped off for her.  Still, she chose her words carefully. “Truth be told, that may close more doors then open them.”

“Ah,” Josephine tactfully said.  “I see.”

“When you find out about my brothers-“

“You will be the first to know.”

“Thank you, Josephine.”

Evelyn paused at the door and glanced at Minaeve.  The mage did not appear to be paying attention.  She was busy shaving a portion of the horn off into a clay container, but you never knew.  Evelyn had learned the ability to look busy while soaking in everything that was being said in her father’s hall while under the watchful gaze of her nurse.  If she could do it, anyone could, and Minaeve did not come across as incapable.

“Is there something else I can do for you, Herald?” Josephine asked when Evelyn did not move.

Evelyn pressed her lips together.  “Have you eaten?”

Josephine followed Evelyn’s discreet look at the mage in the corner of the room before responding.  “Actually, I could use a break.  Give me a moment while I finish this letter to the Marquise de Melmont.  The woman is a strong supporter of chantry reform.  I am trying to convince her to support the Inquisition.”

Evelyn nodded.  “My. . .” She made a face.  “Hut, then?”

Josephine laughed. “I do miss Val Royeaux.  Truly, we cannot leave this place soon enough.”  She picked up her quill.  “I would be delighted, Herald.  In a half glass?”

“I’ll see you then, Ambassador.”

Evelyn left Josephine’s office with a sigh.  Mother Giselle glanced sharply at her, so Evelyn forced a smile on her face.

“Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Herald.”

Evelyn smiled again and kept on walking, desperate to avoid the scrutiny of a member of the chantry.  Her stomach growled; the sound reverberated through the chantry.  The tavern. 

She dreaded the upcoming conversation with Josephine, but it was something that had to happen.  Leliana was bound to find out about her departure from the chantry sooner or later, if she had not already, and it would be best if she confessed before it became public knowledge.  She stopped at the doorway.  Should Mother Giselle know?  No.  Not yet.  Talk to Josephine first.  She would know how to deal with this.

Evelyn stopped at the tavern and grabbed a couple of meatrolls and a half jug of beer to bring back to her hovel.  She took the time she had until Josephine arrived to wipe off the dirt and sweat she had accumulated during drills with her fireteams.  She would go down there in the evening to ensure that they went through the exercises she had set out for them.

Josephine knocked at her door promptly.

“Come in,” Evelyn said, motioning the ambassador inside.  “Meatroll?”

“No, thank you, but a little glass of that ale wouldn’t go amiss.  Remind me to order some Antivan wine.”

Evelyn poured a glass for both herself and her guest while insisting that Josephine take the only chair in the hut.  Evelyn wandered over to the fireplace and stared at the flames.

“Am I right in assuming that this has something to do with your family?”  Josephine said after a few minutes of silence.

“Yes.  Well, no,” Evelyn frowned into her cup.  “Not them.  Me, more like.”  Evelyn looked up at the waiting ambassador.  “I-  I don’t know how to say this.”

Josephine put her glass down and leaned forward in her seat.  “The beginning is usually best.”

“Right.”  Evelyn took in a deep breath.  “My family is devout, as you know doubt know.  Us Trevelyans are synonymous with the chantry.”  She snorted.  “Unless you’re one of the elder children, you’re expected to join the chantry or the templar order.  Whether you’re suited to that life or not, it does not matter.  It is a Trevelyan’s duty.  It is our honour.  It is our place.  More importantly, it’s the source of our power.”  Evelyn took a deep pull of her ale before continuing.  “I was sent to the chantry late.  I managed to put it off for as long as I could.  Father doted on me, the only daughter, so it was easy enough to do.  But when I showed no interest in marrying, nor a man willing to offer for a willful girl who spent more time in the forest than at home. . .” she trailed off.  Those were happy times.  She had been content to run in the woods and stalk prey. She had loved the nights spent sitting by the campfire, skinning fennec and telling stories.  Sharing tents.  Life was simple in a camp.  Evelyn closed her eyes.   “I was twenty-four when I finally went.  Chantry life and I did not. . . It was very quiet, Josephine.”  She looked at the ambassador and tried to smile.  “Too quiet.  It was four years of tedium. And, well, uh, there were certain,” she licked her bottom lip and winced, “pleasures I was not happy in giving up.”

“Ah,” nodded Josephine.  “And these would be more of the. . . physical variety?”

Evelyn sighed.  “Exactly.  Well, I learned early on that there were quite a few people who felt the same way I did about the restrictions.  You just had to be discreet.  A lot went on behind closed doors.”

“No doubt.”

“Well, I- I fucked up, to be frank.  I began meeting this templar, and, well,” Evelyn let out a breath slowly.  _Just tell her.  Just let it out.  Get it over with._ “I forgot to take my daily draught that day and I became pregnant.  As you can well imagine, a pregnant chantry sister is not something. . .  Well, I could not stay.”  Evelyn took another drink from her glass and avoided looking at Josephine.

“I had no idea!” Josephine exclaimed.  Evelyn did not know whether to laugh or frown at the dismay in the ambassador’s voice. The dismay was clearly not aimed at Evelyn, but at Josephine herself.  Evelyn wondered how many inquiries Josephine had made about her and her family.

“That was the point.  My family paid off the revered mother by donating a large sum to repair the chantry foundation, and I retreated to the country estate for a year to ‘reflect’.  It was all very hush hush.  It was decided that the best thing to do was to make an honest woman out of me and marry me off.  My cousin, Emmerson, offered, and it was arranged.  Then they sent us off here to represent the family at the conclave, to help me get back out into the world as a ‘proper’ woman.”  _And now he’s dead._   She left that unsaid.

She did not have to say anything.  Josephine picked up on it immediately.  “I am sorry, Herald.  I did not know you lost-“

“How could you?  Please.  It’s not something I enjoy thinking about.”  _You’ll have to face it someday, Evelyn_.  “At any rate, I thought you should know.  In case it comes out that the Herald of Andraste is a whore.”  Having fun was one thing, but being caught was quite another.

Josephine opened her mouth, thought better of what she was about to say and closed it.  She thought for a moment.  “I see.  Yes.  Forgive me, but I have to ask, the child. . .”

Evelyn frowned at her mug.  “I don’t know.”  She finished her glass, reached for the jug, but stopped herself.  No.  She could not wallow in self-pity.  She still had responsibilities today.  Later.   “I never got to look at it.  Don’t even know if it was a girl or a boy.  They took it away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -insert happy squeal here- 100 hits! It hasn't even been a week. Thank you everyone who has read this.


	4. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn writes home.

“Herald.”

“Cullen, hello,” she said turning to look at him as they met in the square.  It looked like he just come down from the chantry.  She smiled at him and they began the walk down to the practice grounds together.

“I think you have a problem with one of the team leaders.”

She made a face.  “Let me guess.  Jem?”

“That would be him.”  Cullen nodded.  “He’s a bully.”

“Thought so.  He’s decent with a bow.  A poacher, I think.  I was thinking of switching him out with Adelaide, that big blonde girl.”

“Good choice.”

Evelyn grinned up at him.  “Of course it is.  I’m the one who made it.”

Cullen chuckled and they parted ways at the gates.

She went down the hill and stopped behind Jem.  She crossed her arms and waited until he noticed her.  It took a while, because he was busy criticizing his teammates and strutting about like a rooster.

“Hello Jem,” she said coolly when he looked at her with a start.  “You will switch places with Adelaide.” She nodded at the farm girl.  “Congratulations Adelaide, you are now team leader.  I do suggest, however, that you don’t think you are so above everyone else that you do not have to participate in the exercises.  Everyone participates.”  She kept her eyes on Jem.  Adelaide moved to the front of the group, the ghost of a smile on her face.

Evelyn joined her recruits in exercise, her quads protesting at the squats.  Maker were they tight.  She would have to start mobility exercise along with everything else.  More for her own sake than theirs, she added a jog around the lake.  She had spent too much time in reflection.

When the group huffed and puffed back into the practice grounds, Evelyn dismissed them.

“I will meet you here a half glass after sunrise.”  She turned to leave them.  “Oh,” she paused.  “And Jem,” she said over her shoulder, “do another run around the lake.  Team leaders, make sure he does.”

She did not wait to see the slow smiles on his fellow recruits' faces.  She did not have to.  Point made.  Now she had to wait and see if he learned his lesson or not.

She had her jug refilled at the tavern and grabbed a potpie.  Nug, she thought, as she nibbled the cooler edges on the way back to her hut.  She knew that smell anywhere.  Evelyn was pleased to see the writing supplies sitting neatly on her table just as Josephine had promised.  Sitting on the mantel was a small looking glass.  Evelyn avoided that for now.

Josephine had been supportive after her confession, and had eventually convinced her that asking for her family’s support would be a good option.

“Herald.  They sent you to the Conclave.  The Trevelyan’s have been actively involved in the debates since the rebellion began.  They would not have sent you if they did not trust you,” Josephine had argued.

“You think so?”  She hated herself for the whine in her voice.

“Absoloutely.”

Josephine was to write a formal letter and Evelyn to send a personal letter tucked inside.

She set the jug and pie on the table next to the pile of parchment and stripped out of her leathers to change into a simple tunic and loose breeches.  After she stoked the fire, she dragged the table up close to it.  Evelyn filled her mug and ate her supper in quiet.

When she was done and had swept the crumbs from the table, she set about trimming her quill and mixing ink.  Preparation complete, she looked down at the parchment.

 _Dear Father,_ she wrote in her spiky script.

 _I am alive_.

She took a drink.

_Emmerson is not._

She took another.

_While the whereabouts of his person are unknown, it is certain he perished in the explosion at the conclave._

Another.

 _There is no way to identify him._   _Such was the violence of the blast._

And another.

The feet of her chair squealed as she pushed back from the table.  She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes.  She felt pressure building in the centre of her brow.  It ached.  She gasped and swallowed hard.

She missed him.  She missed his quick wit.  His constant one-liners.  His humour was dry, and at times cut deep, but was always spot on.  She missed the gleam in his eye when they planned the route of their next hunt.  They had loved each other, in their own way.  They were friends.  Comfortable.  But there was no lust.  No heated couplings in the dark.  Emmerson chose to share his tent with those of his own kind.  Preferably the hairy ones.

“They’re like blankets.  Perfect for a tent on an autumn night,” he had quipped once.

Marrying each other solved each other’s problems.  A collective sigh of relief went through the family ranks when the news of the decision was announced. Two problems solved.

By marrying, Emmerson would gain access to his allotted lands and title accompanied by a dollop of respectability.  In turn, Evelyn could freely run around the countryside with her bow.  It was not a perfect solution, but it did have its enticements.  Mainly freedom neither had before.  They could live their own lives as they saw fit.  They would have to create an heir, of course.  That  task would be awkward.  They had both steadily ignored that particular topic when they were together.  They would deal with that issue when it came.

And now he was gone.  It was no longer an issue.  She gripped her glass tightly.  She sobbed.  Her body jerked with the force of it.  She sobbed again and it got stuck in her throat.  She hiccoughed and coughed at the same time.  The empty mug fell from her hand and she crumpled to the hearth.  She curled into a ball, forehead to knee, and allowed herself to cry for the first time since the explosion. 

She fell asleep on the hearth with damp ash smeared down her cheeks.

**~*~**

She woke a glass before dawn.  Her body was stiff from both sleeping on the floor and the unaccustomed exercise the day before.  The skin around her eyes felt tight and her head throbbed.  She broke the ice in her wash basin and splashed her face, gasping at the cold.  With the looking glass Josephine had kindly provisioned her with, she shaved the sides of her head, cleaning up the growth she had left in the past few weeks.  No reason to appear shabby.

She ate a day-old roll and took a swig of the cold, yet flat, ale.

When finished her breakfast, Evelyn glanced at the unfinished letter.  She looked out the window to gauge the time.  She had enough to finish the task.  She wet the ink and dipped her pen.

 

 

 

> _Dear Father,_
> 
> _I am alive.  Emmerson is not.  While the whereabouts of his person are unknown, it is certain he perished in the explosion at the conclave.  There is no way to identify him.  Such was the violence of the blast.   I am told I am the sole survivor.  Enclosed is a letter for his parents.  Could you please see it to them?_
> 
> _I will not dwell on how I feel, but it would be accurate to say that I feel his passing deeply.  He was a good friend.  I try to find comfort in Transfigurations 12._
> 
> _Seat me by Your side in death_
> 
> _Make me one with Your glory_
> 
> _And let the world once more see Your favour_
> 
> _I do not know what tales have reached Ostwick.  I cannot add much more to Lady Montilyet’s account of events, save that this mantle of Herald does not sit comfortably upon my shoulders.  Any advice you would give this poor daughter would be appreciated._
> 
> _I will do as I must.  I will stay here and help bring order back into the world.  The power that has lodged itself upon my hand has seen to that._
> 
> _There is a matter concerning Maxwell and Henry.  Have you heard from them?  The tales concerning the Templars are true.  They have broken from the Chantry, and indeed, assaulted a chantry sister in the market of Val Royeaux for all to see.  Lord Seeker Corin appears to have gone mad with power.  I fear for them.  Call them home, father, or we will lose them to chaos._
> 
> _I must go.  I have a small contingent of recruits awaiting my instruction.  It appears my skill as a hunter has other practical applications._
> 
> _Give mother my love.  And Edward and Amelie._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Evelyn_

It would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but necessarily so, I think.


	5. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn writes.

 

> _Dear Ser Trevelyan-Lornen,_
> 
> _I regret to inform you of the passing of your son, Emmerson Lornen.  He was caught in the blast that destroyed the Conclave._
> 
> _I miss Emmerson.  He was my oldest friend.  I was looking forward to our future together._
> 
> _There was a night, a week before I left for the chantry - remember, when Emmerson and I snuck out for one last time and there was that monster storm?  We huddled together for two days while the wind ripped at our tent.  We talked about a lot of things in those long hours, but you were a big topic.  You were set on giving him more responsibility, and he feared he was not up to it.  He told me how much he admired you, and hoped to be as good a man.  He thought you honourable and just.  I think he would be.  Was.  He also made me swear to never tell you.  He would deny it and label me a liar._
> 
> _What I shall miss the most about Emmerson was how positive he was.  I will always hold dear the memory of him fighting in the Grand Tourney.  He was abysmal and was knocked out by the second round, but I have never been more proud of someone than when he walked back to us in defeat with a great grin plastered on his face.  He had made it there, he had his fun, and that was all that mattered._
> 
> _I do not know if this knowledge will help, but I have joined the Inquisition.  We have sworn to find the one responsible for this heinous act.  We will bring them to justice._
> 
> _I am so very sorry for your loss.  My soul aches with his absence._
> 
> _With love,_
> 
> _Evelyn Trevelyan_


	6. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back after recruiting the Grey Warden and a few weeks in the Hinterlands sealing rifts, Evelyn finds comfort where she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So, plans changed. A scene appeared in my head while on the bus, and I had to incorporate it. The smut has arrived.

“What do you call that?  You can’t plug arseholes like that, ya? You have used a bow before,” Sera called out after Evelyn missed her footing in the maneuver Varric was teaching her.

Varric scratched his head. “You’re over thinking it, Herald.”

Evelyn got back up to her feet and brushed the snow off of herself.  “Something about running and shooting just screams dangerous to me.  I can’t help but think about it,” she said as she reached down for her fallen bow.

Sera slid off of the rock she was perched on and came over.  “Look, it’s no different than standin’ like an idiot waitin’ t’get shot.  You point, you let go.  The pisspod falls down.”

Evelyn arched a brow.  “Oh, now you tell me.  _He’s_ the one who falls.”

Varric chuckled.  “It’s getting dark, we should get back if we want to get one of the good pies.  Word is there’s only so much druffalo left.  If we don’t get there early, we’ll get stuck with nug.  Ugh.” He shivered.  “I don’t eat anything that has hands.”

The three archers walked back toward Haven, skirting around the lake.

Cullen was waiting for her at the gates.

“Herald.  May I have a moment?”

“Don’t be too long, Herald.  They’ve got hands!” Varric called over his shoulder as he and Sera climbed the steps.

Evelyn grinned at Cullen.  “Don’t ask.”

Cullen smiled back.  The corners of his eyes were just beginning to crease, she noticed.  “I won’t.  I wanted to talk to you about our next move.”

“Well. I agree with you about the Templars.  I do think they are the best bet, if we can win them over.”

“Good.  I thought Cassandra would have understood the need to suppress the breach instead of feeding it.  She surprised me when she seemed keen on approaching the mages.”

“Yes.  I was surprised as well,” Evelyn made a step toward the gate.  She was desperately hungry.  She wondered how long Cullen would take to get to the point.  He followed, so she continued on.

“I was actually thinking about what we can do in the meantime, before we approach them.  We need to build our reputation.”

“Mind if we just stop at my hut?  I’d like to drop my bow off.”

“Oh, not at all.  Afterward, would you come to the war room with me?  There’s some points of interest I would like to go over with you.”  Cullen said with a smile.

Evelyn pursed her lips and looked longingly at the tavern.  “Would we be able to do that after supper?”

Cullen’s smile spread into a grin.  He leaned in and said quietly, “I had pies sent to the war room already.”  He glanced over his shoulder before continuing.  “I got the last of the druffalo.”

Evelyn met his grin with one of her own.  “Well in that case, I’m in.”

They entered her hut, and Cullen took a seat while Evelyn unstrung her bow and put it away.

“What’s your opinion of this Warden Blackwall?  Cassandra seems pleased enough with him.  Says you two got along.” He picked up an unfletched arrow she had on the table and began picking the dirt from under his nails with the tip.

“I like him.  Easy to get along with.  He knows his way around a camp, performs duties and chores without being asked.  He’s great in the thick of things, and keeps an eye out for his comrades when in a fight.  He needs a bath, but other than that, no complaints.  He’s charming, really.” She smiled at him.

“Charming?” Cullen asked, his brows raising.

Evelyn laughed.  “Odd, really, considering who knows how long he’s been wandering around Thedas on his own.  He reminds me of men I knew back home, in Ostwick.  Good men.  Solid men.  Hunted with them often.  He’s a Free Marcher, so that probably explains it.  Giving me a taste of home.”

She enjoyed the Grey Warden’s company.  He was a steady presence, and the two of them had spent a lot of time together at camp over the last three weeks.  Varric, before he headed back to Haven with Scout Harding, had winked at her a few times when he thought no one else was looking.  She hid her smile at the memory.  Now if only she could get Cassandra to share a tent with Solas.

“Well, done here,” she said, setting the bow in the corner by the door.  “War room?”

The two left her hut and began the walk up to the chantry.

“How’re my recruits coming along?” she asked.  She had been in the Hinterlands with Cassandra, Blackwall and Solas for a few weeks.  They had sealed all reported rifts near the Crossroads and Redcliffe.  Rifts were getting easier to handle.  She had caught on to the pattern.  The demons, on the other hand, she still was not getting used to those.  They could stay in the Fade where they belonged.  Terrors were the worst of the lot, she thought, and they were becoming more common.  The way they came leaping from beneath the ground, grasping at her ankles gave her nightmares.  Cassandra had elbowed her more than once in the night.

Cullen smiled at the ‘my’, Evelyn noticed. “They’re coming along just fine.  Have them at four laps around the lake now.  They’ve started shooting at targets.  Great choice on Adelaide, by the way.  She’s turning out to be the best of the lot.  Keep her close, though, Leliana is looking to recruit her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.  And Jem?”

“You made your point, and he’s been quiet.  Still keeping an eye on him, though.  Adelaide seems to have him under control for now.  She has a bunch of younger brothers, I’ve been told.  She’s been keeping him in check.”  Cullen opened the chantry door and held it open.  “After you.”

“Thank you.”  She stepped inside and waited for Cullen before making her way to the war room.

The promised pies were sitting on a tray at the edge of the war table, along with a jug of beer.  Her stomach gurgled. 

Cullen chuckled.  “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” She grinned, grabbed the closest pie and took a bite.

Cullen poured them each a mug of beer.

“For all of the work you did sealing rifts, we still don’t have enough clout to get the attention of the templars,” he said as he held out a mug toward her.

Evelyn licked the gravy that was starting to drip down her chin and took the mug.  She nodded, her mouth still full.

“We’ve had reports of a mercenary fortress to the southwest, and a cult in the southeast.  I think clearing out the mercenaries and checking out this cult would help.”

“Oh!” Evelyn said around another mouthful.  She held up a finger for Cullen to wait while she finished chewing and swallowed.  “Mercenaries.  Right.  I met one.  Offered their services to the Inquisition.  Bull’s Chargers, I think their name was?  They’re going to be in the Stormcoast fighting Tevinters soon.  Asked if we wanted to see them in action.  I said we would.”

Cullen reached for the other pie and looked down at the map.  “I think I’ve heard of them.  A Qunari leads them, right?”

“That’s what I was told.”  Evelyn took another bite.  Poor Varric, stuck with nug pie.  She would go hunting tomorrow to make up for it.  She hooked her foot around a leg of a stool and dragged it over to the table.  She sat down.

“Right,” he said to himself.  He took a bite of his pie and continued to stare at the map.

“We could use the troops,” she said.  “We should probably go check them out, since there’s a time limit on that anyway.  Some sort of Tevinter drop off.  And we should look into that.  Tevinter in Ferelden. What if Tevinter was behind all of this?”

Cullen made a face.  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Right then.  Go get some mercenaries then come back, kill some mercenaries, and look into some crazies living in the hills and make sure they’re not too crazy.  I think we’ve got a plan.”  Evelyn held her mug up.  “To plans!”

“To plans.”  Cullen smiled at her and raised his glass.

**~*~**

Evelyn yawned as she walked down to the practice grounds.  Sunrise had come far too early.

“Late night with the Commander?” Leliana asked from the shadows of the gates.

Evelyn rolled her eyes at the smile on Leliana’s face.  “Oh, I wish it was what you were thinking.”  She sighed.  “We looked at maps all night.  The man doesn’t know how to stop working.”

“No, he doesn’t,” the Left Hand agreed.  “But that’s why we need him.”

Evelyn eyed Leliana.  “You can’t have her.”

“I can’t have who?”

“Oh, don’t play all wide eyed innocent with me, Spy Master.”  Evelyn shot her a look.  Leliana laughed.  “She’s mine.  She’ll work well with Harding, I think.”

“We’ll see, Herald,” Leliana said with a grin.  “Have a good run!”

Evelyn shook her head as Leliana headed back up to her tent.

“Recruits!” she yelled as she approached.  She was glad to see that they managed to stand in a straight line this time.  She smiled.  “Let’s get this day on its way.”

Evelyn ran them through their exercises, and was pleased that everyone, including herself, were able to handle them.  Tomorrow, she noted to herself, she would have to ramp them up a bit.  She could not make this too easy. 

Target practice was comedic and she had to struggle to keep a straight face as arrows went wide.  Jem never said a word the entire time.  Adelaide managed to hit the target most of the time.

By midday Evelyn’s stomach was growling. She dismissed the archers and went off in the direction of the tavern in search of food.

“Flissa!” she called as she approached the bar.  “What’s on the menu today?”

“Nug,” groaned Blackwall from his perch on a stool.

“Oh, quit yer whinin’,” Flissa said to him.  “You were fine with it last night.  Until that dwarf came in and ruined it fer everyone.”

“I never thought about it before,” the warden protested.  “They do have hands.”  He looked at his meatroll dubiously.

Evelyn sat on a stool next to the Warden.  “Well, I’ll have a meatroll, nug or not, Flissa.  And a half pint, if you please.”

“Right away, Herald.”

“Saw you on the field,” Blackwall said when Flissa turned away.  “You’ve got a good little troop coming along.”

“Thanks.  Though, I can’t take much credit.  Cullen’s mostly the one who’s been working with them.  Can’t do much when I am out and about saving the fucking world.”  She winked at him.

He laughed. 

Evelyn looked at him and smiled.  “Thank you,” she said to Flissa when her beer and meatroll were set before her.

“I’m going hunting in the valley after this.  There’s a small herd of druffalo.  I’ll make sure you get all of the meat,” she said.

“Oh, that would be fine, Herald.”  Flissa brightened.  “That damned dwarf,” she said shaking her head.  She turned toward another customer.

“Druffalo, eh?” Blackwall perked up.  “Mind if I join you?”

Evelyn laughed.  “What, you’re going to chase down a druffalo and stab it?”

Blackwall let out one of his gravelly chuckles.  She liked his laugh.  He had the voice of a man who was both used to shouting commands over the noise of a battle and sitting around a fire.  It was the same throatiness that tanners had from all of the smoke.  It reminded her of home.

“I’ve done crazier things.”

“Oh, I love stories.”

Blackwall smiled over the rim of his mug.  “Well it’s a good thing I have a lot of them.”

“It’s a deal then.  I’ll enjoy the company.”  She grinned.

They stopped off at her hut in order to pick up her bow and quiver.  Blackwall looked around her quarters curiously.

“Nicer than the smithy,” he said. 

Evelyn caught him staring at her double bed.  “No doubt.  At least the smithy is warm.”

“Could be warmer,” he said with a glance at her.

She met his eye with a glimmer.  “Always could be.”  He smiled.

As they passed the tents outside of the gates, Evelyn called out to Cullen who was overseeing a group of recruits.

“We’re going hunting.  Be back before dark, most likely.”  She waved and continued to crunch through the snow without waiting for the commander’s response.

Blackwall watched as Cullen’s head perked up at Evelyn’s voice, but when the two men’s eyes met, the commander’s look darkened.  Blackwall nodded to him.  Cullen slowly nodded in return and then turned his back on the pair to shout commands at the nearest recruit.  Blackwall grunted.

“Coming, Blackwall?” Evelyn said over her shoulder as she started up the path that would take them in the direction of the logging stand.

“Coming, Herald,” he called up to her.  He glanced back over his shoulder at the commander and found the man watching them.

They approached the clearing the druffalo favoured quietly.  Evelyn crouched down in the trees and waited for Blackwall to do the same.  He crouched close to her, his shoulder rubbing against her own.  She smiled at him and was rewarded with one of his own. 

“Alright.  See that one, on its own to the left?” she whispered, leaning close to the warden.  He nodded.  His beard tickled her ear.  “Let me shoot it a few times, and then go in for the killing blow.  You're no good to me trampled.”  She felt his chuckle against her side more than she heard it. 

“Understood.”

She rose from her crouch and faded from view to carefully make her way to a group of rocks.  She climbed up to the top in order to remain out of the druffalo’s reach in case it charged her.  _Now,_ she thought to herself, _let’s see if you’ve still got it._   She slowed her breathing, took careful aim, and fired.  The arrow flew true, and embedded itself in the animal’s left eye.  It roared and shook its head back and forth to dislodge the object.  Blood sprayed red on the white snow.  Evelyn watched its movements as she notched another arrow.  The muscles of its haunches bunched.  She let the arrow loose, and it pierced the soft throat of the beast just as it reared up onto its hind legs.  She was about to let a third arrow go when Blackwall came barrelling out of the trees with his sword.  She watched as the warden took a running leap and plunged his sword into the druffalo’s neck.  The animal foundered and fell.  It convulsed a few times before laying still.

“Well done,” Blackwall said with a grin as she approached.

“That was quite the leap.”

He laughed.  “I was inspired by the company.”

Evelyn felt a flush creep up her neck.  “I guess I have something big and heavy to be carried after all.”

Blackwall looked down at the animal and chuckled.  “Well, I can’t say I don’t prefer a druffalo over a dragon.  I’m the one who gets to do the eating this way.”

Evelyn laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.  “There’s a sledge over by the wood pile.  We can use that.  No need to be a beast of burden.”

“I’d be anything you need me to be, my lady,” he said.  Evelyn met his eyes and blushed.  A warm tingle spread through her abdomen.

“Is that so?” she asked, her voice barely over a whisper.

His hand slid over her right hip.  Her mouth quirked at the touch.  He was direct and she liked that.  Straight to the point, just as he had been when they first met.  _Fight or get out_.   She took a step closer.

“I swear,” he replied, his head bowing down to meet her upturned one.

His mouth was warm, his lips surprisingly soft.  He tasted of smoke with a hint of iron, no doubt from sleeping in the smithy.  His beard and mustache tickled, but it only heightened the sensation.  The anticipation of where it would scratch against her was worth any red marks on her skin.  She leaned into him and slid her tongue between his lips.  Both of his hands were on her hips now, pulling her against him.  She let out a small gasp as he began to trail her neck with kisses.  Her breathing quickened and a tingling warmth spread from her stomach and melted down into her loins.  Her inner walls tightened. 

The next thing she knew she was pressed against a tree and  Blackwall’s hands wandered along the tight leather of her armour.  She grinned as he squeezed a breast.

“Maker,” he growled into her ear.

“Shut up and kiss me.”  She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his face to her own.  It had been so long since she had been with a man.  She had begun taking the draught again soon after she had arrived in Haven.  Adan did not question her.  He had a lot of it in stock.  War time made people seek comfort where and when they could, and with the craziness of the last few weeks, Evelyn welcomed Blackwall’s advances.  They fumbled with each other’s laces, only undoing what was necessary.  Their movements experienced and perfunctory.

He slid into her easily and took her hard against the tree.  She bucked wildly against him, moaning into his ear with each thrust.  He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb and groaned when she tightened around him.  When her walls began to convulse, he quickened the pace and soon both of them were riding the warm waves of orgasm.

They stood there panting, he still inside her, looking at each other.  Evelyn grinned.

“Thank you.  I needed that.”

“I always aim to please,” was his reply.  He pulled out of her, and stepped away. 

Evelyn laced her breeches back up and stretched.  “I should go hunting with you more often.”

Blackwall chuckled.  “Any time, my lady.”  He finished tying his own laces.

“Well, let’s go make Varric’s day, shall we?” she said with a nod toward the druffalo sitting in blood soaked snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been reading, giving kudos and bookmarking. It makes me really happy. I was so nervous to do this. Now, every day my husband asks, "How many hits today?" Again, thank you!
> 
> Feel free to comment. I'd love to hear more of your opinions.


	7. Letters from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn returns to Haven after a month long stint in the Storm Coast, bringing Bull and his Chargers back with her. Blackwall finally gets a bath. Cullen visits and Evelyn receives letters from home.

Finally free of giving reports and ensuring that the Chargers had settled in, Evelyn sank into the tub in front of the fire with a sigh.  It was steaming hot, but she was too tired to care.  She could deal with pink skin. The trip to the Storm Coast had been a miserable four weeks.  The constant drizzle had dripped down her neck and chilled her to the bone.  Each step became a squelch, each camp a mud pit.

Evelyn did not like the Storm Coast.

The Iron Bull had lived up to his name with horns as wide as she was tall, and shoulders the size of her torso.  He had the paunch of a man who enjoyed the more pleasant side of life, but the biceps of a man who lived on the battlefield.  The Chargers seemed like a good group, if a bit more diverse than she was used to, but that seemed to be the way of her life now.  The Inquisition needed to be diverse if it was to stand united against the threat in the sky.

They did find some Grey Warden things for Blackwall.  Josephine had been pleased with some treaties they had recovered.  The Blades of Hessarian group were now working for the Inquisition.  They were an odd group, and their views on Andraste were dubious.  She was not sure she wanted to be the head of their militia, but diversification and all that.  They were useful, she had to admit.

Evelyn submerged herself in the water, save for her knees which poked out into the cool air of her hut.  Josephine was right.  They should relocate to Val Royeaux if only to have proper baths.  This was her first real bath in- Evelyn made a face and came up for air. She smoothed her hair back from her forehead.  It was her first bath since arriving in Haven.  A wash basin just did not cut it for this Trevelyan.

Her body ached, glutes and hamstrings in particular, from the constant marching and climbing in the Storm Coast.  The terrain there was not suitable for horses.  There were far too many rocks strewn over the paths. The horses had a hard time picking their way through the boulders.  They had given up on the horses early, and had left them under Harding’s care.  Evelyn did not want to chance laming any of Dennet’s mounts, or she would never hear the end of it.  She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the dried elfroot she had sprinkled into the bath water.

Someone knocked on her door.

 _Maker, go away!_   Could she not have just an hour to herself?  She ignored it in hopes that whoever it was would go away and leave her in peace.

“Herald?” Blackwall’s voice came through the door.

Evelyn pursed her lips and thought about answering.  They had not touched each other since their encounter in the valley.  She had hoped they would.  She had left Cassandra at Haven, and brought only men with her, in hopes to share her tent with him.  But he had shared a tent with Varric, and she had been forced to share with Solas.  She and Blackwall never spoke of it.  Evelyn chalked the experience up to two lonely people needing a little release.  They still got along, and conversation came easy between them.  They had often walked and talked together during the last excursion. He was always near her.  Varric had started calling him her shadow, something Blackwall laughed off.  She was grateful for his companionship, regardless of whether they shared a tent or not.  The man knew where he stood, and his confidence rubbed off on her.  He was comforting.

“I come with food and drink,” he said.

The man knew the way to her heart.  Her empty stomach won over common sense.  “Come in,” she called.

The door opened and Blackwall came in chuckling to himself.  He hugged a jug of ale between his arm and body, while holding a small basket in the same hand.

“Oh,” he said when he looked up and saw her in the bath.  A hint of a smile appeared on his face at the sight of her.

“Please!  Shut the door, you’re letting the cold in.”

He took in the view before he closed the door behind him.  He placed the beer and food on the table.  “I thought perhaps it had been a one-time thing.”

Evelyn shrugged, the water sluiced over her shoulders.  “So did I, but you came with food, and I’m hungry.”

“To think, I didn’t have to put up with Varric’s snoring the past month,” Blackwall said while pouring beer for the two of them.

Evelyn snorted.  “Trust me, you don’t have to be in the same tent to be bothered by that.”

“True enough.”  He brought a mug over to her and lingered by the tub after she took it with a smile.

She looked up at him and watched him looking down at her.  “No fair.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re the one with the view.”

His mouth quirked.  “It’s a nice one, to be sure.”

“Maybe we should share the bath.”  She met his eye with a smile.

Blackwall arched a brow at her, noting how her knees were almost under her chin.  “Somehow I don’t think we’d both fit.”

“Here,” she said, holding out her mug.  “Let me wash my hair, and you can have it.  The water is still hot.”

Blackwall took her mug and went back to the table and sat down.  She had two chairs now, having stolen one from the chantry.  Sera had distracted Mother Giselle by letting in a fennec and a nug run loose, while Evelyn grabbed a chair from one of the side rooms and high tailed it out of there.

She reached over the edge of the small tub and scooped up a bit of the soap nut mixture from a bowl and massaged it into her head.  It felt good to properly clean her hair.  She did not have much of it, having shaved the sides and only keeping a bit on top, but it still felt good to get rid of a month’s worth of oil and grime.  She scooted her pelvis forward and dunked her head under the water to rinse it out.  Once done, she resurfaced and sighed.  If she was going to share this luxury she had to get out of the tub now, before the water got cold.  She stood in a rush of water and reached for the cotton sheet she had warming on a peg of the mantel. 

Blackwall hissed.  “That’s quite the assortment of bruises.”

Evelyn looked down at herself.  Her body was a kaleidescope of different shades of yellow, green, purple and blue.

“We need to start working on your melee skills.  You can’t keep on taking hits like that,” he said.  He was up and over by her side, wrapping the sheet around her as she stepped onto the hearth. Water pooled on the stone at her feet.

Evelyn smiled at the concern lined in his brow.  “That would probably be wise.  Adan gave me a liniment for them.”  She nodded at the wooden jar sitting on the table by the jug of beer.  “Your turn.”

Evelyn padded over to the table and sat down, tucking her feet underneath her.  She peered inside the basket.

“Meat pies and apples baked in pastry,” Blackwall said as he unbuckled his breast plate.

Evelyn took in a deep breath, taking in the aroma of the baked apples.  Cinnamon.  Her favourite.  She reached for one of those first.  She watched Blackwall strip down.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” he asked, looking at her sidewise. 

“Very much,” she said behind her hand. Her mouth was full.   He was an attractive man.  He had the hard and defined body of a soldier and she would be a filthy liar if she said the sight of him did not stir a primitive response in her.  Emmerson would have liked him.  Blackwall’s chest hair rivalled Varric’s.  She wanted to run her fingers through it.

Blackwall laughed and sat down in the tub with a sigh that sounded a lot like her own when she originally got in.  His knees were at his ears.  Evelyn giggled.

“Well, it’s better than a bucket,” he said.

Blackwall was finished his bath and wrapped in a sheet from her bed by the time Evelyn was finished her baked apple.  They ate their meal in companionable silence.  She was on her third mug of ale and feeling drowsy when Blackwall chuckled. 

“Alright, girly.  Let’s get that liniment rubbed into you and get you in bed.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said with a sleepy smile.

“Get up, you.”  He grinned at her and held out his hand.  She took it and allowed him to pull her up onto her feet.  He guided her to the bed, which she eagerly crawled into.  A mattress was so much nicer than a bedroll.  She had dreamed about this straw mattress for weeks.  Who cared if the straw sometimes poked through the casing?  She’d take straw over a rock any day.

Blackwall warmed the liniment in his hands before massaging it into her.  She moaned as his fingers touched tender spots.  He was careful and light in his touch.  The cream smelled a lot of the mild elfroot, but with a strong astringent cut of blood lotus.  It made her eyes water.  She kept them shut.  She was half asleep when he finished.  She opened her eyes when she felt his weight leave the bed.  She rolled onto her side and looked at him.  He was picking up his breeches from over the back of a chair.

“Stay?” she asked quietly.

He paused and met her eyes.  She could tell he wanted to.  He looked over her bare body.  His eyes lingered at her breasts; her nipples were hard from the chill air.  He opened his mouth, but then closed it.  He shook his head and licked his lips.  “You need sleep, my lady.”

Evelyn swallowed her disappointment and watched him as he dressed.

“Good night, Blackwall,” she whispered as he moved toward the door.

“Good night, Herald.”

She was asleep before the door was shut.

**~*~**

She slept in.  She did not worry about it, either.  She relished in the sheer luxury of lying in a bed far after sunrise.  She stretched out and stared at the rafters.  She was discovering that hunting trips were a lot different than a military camp and outpost.  Camping with the Inquisition was not nearly as fun as it had been in her father’s cultivated hunting grounds.

Her bladder is what forced her out of bed at last.  She used the chamber pot and then tucked it back under the bed.  She was dressed and in the process of eating a meatroll found in Blackwall’s basket when there was a rap on her door.

“Enter,” she called.

An Inquisition messenger stood in the doorway.  She held a message tube in her hands.  “For you, Herald,” she said as she entered the hut and held the tube out. 

Evelyn took it.  “Thank you.  Oh, and could you send someone to take out the tub?” She motioned toward the wooden tub full of dirty water.

“Yes, Herald.”

“Dismissed.”

The messenger bowed and left.

Evelyn recognized the seal as her father’s.  It was still intact, Evelyn was pleased to see.  She did not like the idea of Leliana going through her personal correspondence.  She made a mental note to thank Josephine.  No doubt it was the ambassador’s doing that her mail had arrived untouched.  She broke the seal with her knife and pulled out several sheets of parchment.  There were letters from a few different people, she noted.  Her father, mother, Ser Travelyan-Lornen, and one, to her delight, from her brother Maxwell.  She set that one aside to read last.  She started with her father’s, knowing it would be factual and succinct.

 

 

> _Dear Evelyn_ ,
> 
> _It was with great relief that I received your letter.  We had heard dreadful rumours and feared you were among the fallen.  Your mother was in hysterics for weeks.  Please, ignore much of what is in her letter.  Stay with the Inquisition.  The chantry may have labelled you a heretic, but after reading what your Lady Ambassador had to say, I must agree with the Inquisition’s position.  Thedas needs you, daughter, and that takes precedence over the fears of a parent.  Your mother will come to terms with the truth in time._
> 
> _You are an insightful, and caring person, Evelyn.  Heed your upbringing and listen to your advisors.  You could have none better than the Right and Left Hand of the Divine Justinia.  You will do well.  Stay strong.  Continue to find solace in the Chant.  It will guide you._
> 
> _I am saddened to hear of Emmerson’s passing.  I did as you asked and gave your letter to Ser Trevelyan-Lornen.  He was thankful for the news.  It was a relief to know the truth of what happened, even if the news was not happy.  We went to the memorial service.  It was well attended.  Emmerson was well loved and respected.  We lit a candle for him in your name._
> 
> _Your brothers are safe.  The templars here in Ostwick have not rebelled.  There are tensions, however, and I have taken your advice and called them home.  Maxwell has already arrived, while Henry, who was farther afield, is on his way._
> 
> _I will give the Inquisition my full support.  Enclosed is a letter for your ambassador.  Please see that she receives it._
> 
> _I have never been more proud of you.  Please, when all of this is done, do this old man a favour and come back home alive.  I want to see my precious daughter again._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Your Father,_
> 
> _Bann Edwick Trevelyan_

Evelyn’s throat began to close.  She swallowed and hurriedly set the letter down.  It affected her more than she thought it would.  She took in a deep breath and poured herself a mug of flat beer.  She took a drink to steady herself for her mother’s letter.  She had not needed her father’s warning to know what sort of things it would contain. She thought about leaving it for last, but decided against it.  It was better to get the damn thing over with.

 

 

> _Evelyn,_
> 
> _What have you done?  The chantry has named you a heretic! You have ruined the good name of House Trevelyan.  Your Aunt Lucille has had no less than thirty-three inquiries about the rumours.  No self-respecting Andrastrian would go about walking in the fade.  You are not some Tevinter Magister bent on causing the Blight.  You were brought up to be better than that.  I expected you to know and understand the basics of the Chant!_
> 
> _I should have known you would pull something like this after the spectacle you made of yourself in the chantry.  That templar, so you know, has been expelled from the ranks of the order.  I have seen to that.  He was not even of noble birth!  I blame your father, of course, letting you run around the forest like some peasant vagrant._
> 
> _I demand that you leave that heretic Inquisition and come home at once.  We will see you settled with someone of proper standing.  I have invited Ser Northal and his family.  His eldest son is a widower, his late wife and the babe died in birth.  Their lands are small, but with your now doubly sullied reputation, we will have to settle for what we can get.  I expect to see you home soon._
> 
> _Mother_

Evelyn sighed and tossed the parchment onto the table.  Typical.  And the woman wondered why she did not confide in her.  Her mother’s view of the world was a narrow one, and Evelyn had never been able to share it.  Her stomach roiled at the news of Jorel’s expulsion.  He did not deserve that.  She would have to speak to Josephine.  Maybe they could find him and give him work.  She owed him.

There was a soft rap at her door.

“Enter,” she called, picking up the letter from Emmerson’s father.

Two elves shyly entered the room, each holding a large urn.

“We came for the tub,” one said, eyes intent on the rug.

“Yes, please,” Evelyn said with a smile.  “Don’t let me bother you.”

The two elves each dipped their urn into the tub and carried the water outside.

Evelyn let them to their work and started reading the letter in her hand.

 

 

> _Dear Lady Evelyn Treveylan,_
> 
> _I wish to thank you for your letter.  While the news came with a broken heart, Emmerson’s mother and I were able to rest knowing the truth of his fate._
> 
> _I wish for you to know, that it warmed this father’s heart to hear of Emmerson’s words.  While your pairing was perhaps not what you both truly wanted, I was honoured to accept you into my family._
> 
> _Your father has told me about the Inquisition and your role in it.  I will be giving the Inquisition my support.  I hope you catch the bastard who murdered my son._
> 
> _With respect,_
> 
> _Ser Byron Trevelyan-Lornen_

Evelyn bent her head and wiped away a tear.  She smiled at one of the servants when he looked at her.  He quickly averted his eyes.

“Herald,” said a man from her doorway.

She looked up.  Cullen stood there.  She took a deep breath and forced a smile on her face.

“You look rested,” he said.

“Oh, I am sorry.  I know, I should have gone to work with the recruits, but-“

He chuckled and held up a hand.  “No apologies needed.  You were out in the field for a long time.  You needed the rest after that grilling in the war room last night.”

Evelyn carefully placed the parchment atop her father’s letter.  “Has Josephine forgiven me?”

Cullen stepped inside to allow one of the servants with a full urn pass by.  “She has agreed to raise the funds needed to pay for the Charger’s services, if that is what you mean.”  He glanced down at the letters.  “Oh, pardon me.  I am intruding.”

“No, no, not at all,” she said, gathering the parchment pages into a bundle.  “Please, have a seat.  The ale is flat, I’m afraid.”

“I am fine, thank you,” he said to the offer of a mug.  He sat down.  “You’ll be taking some time here at Haven before you go back out to the Hinterlands?”

Evelyn took a sip of the beer and nodded.  “I think so.  A week, no more.  My body is sore in places I didn’t even know I had.”

“Good,” he said.  “I mean, good that you are staying, not that you’re sore.” 

She thought she heard him curse under his breath.  She laughed.  “I understood, Commander.”

“I was thinking we should start you on your lessons.  I know Varric has been showing you some things, but from what I hear you need work in close combat situations.”

“Oh, I’ve got bruises that can attest to that.”

“You’re lucky bruises is all they are.”

She glanced up at that.  His voice had gone deeper, urgent.  He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You are the Herald.  The Inquisition needs you,” he supplied without being asked.

She nodded.  “Tomorrow?  I was hoping for a day of rest.”

The two elves came back into the hut without the urns.  They each grabbed a handle at each end of the tub, and carefully walked out with it still half full of water.  The last one out closed the door behind him.

Cullen looked at the letters again and then nodded his agreement.  “I suppose I can allow you that.”

“Well,” she said with a grin.  “I’m grateful.”

He smiled briefly in return and then stared at the fire.  Evelyn watched him and waited.  A stray curl had fallen out of place.  She bit back the urge to brush it aside.  She would have done before, but within the past month or two he had become distant.  Her teasing did not have the same effect it once had.

“Herald,” he said at last.

“Yes?”

“Are you and. . .” he trailed off and shook his head abruptly.  “Nevermind.”

Evelyn frowned.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  Nothing at all.”  He smiled at her and stood.  “Tomorrow at midday, then?”

Evelyn nodded.  “Sounds like a plan.”  She held up her mug in salute.  She was grateful when the smile he gave her reached his eyes this time.  She stood to watch him walk away from her hut through the window.  She cocked her head to the side and frowned until he disappeared around a bend.  That was odd.

She made her bed and tidied up her hut before she pulled a chair next to the fire and settled in to read the letter from her brother. 

 

 

> _Evelyn,_
> 
> _Why does it not surprise me that you managed to make out of that catastrophe at the Temple of Sacred Ashes alive?  You’ve always been blessed with the Maker’s luck.  Just promise me, never do that again.  The catastrophe part, not the staying alive part.  I like the staying alive part._
> 
> _Father told us about Lord Seeker Corin.  The news is troubling.  I have written to the Knight-Commander in Ostwick with the details Lady Josephine supplied us with, since your letter omitted, oh, I don’t know, EVERYTHING.  ‘I am alive.  I am told I am the only survivor’?  That’s all you have to say for yourself?_
> 
> _Joking aside, father and I understand your brevity, even if mother doesn’t.  It can’t have been easy.  I am told. . . Well, you already know what it was like, I do not need to dredge the memories to the surface.  I am sorry you had to witness that scale of waste and destruction. I am sorry anyone had to.   Maker have mercy on all of those poor sod’s souls.  And on yours, Eve.  Please, do me a favour and find someone to talk to.  I know how you bottle things up._
> 
> _I’m proud of you.  My little sister, terror of orchards and boars alike.  The Herald of Andraste.  You really are going to have to tell me the story about that.  How exactly does one gain that title? At any rate, you’ve finally found something you’ll be good at.  I know you will be.  No, you ARE.  We’ve already begun to hear tales about how you’re giving people hope.  A merchant came through the other day, full of gossip about how you’ve helped so many refugees in Ferelden.  He was certain it was because of you that coin was flowing again.  The chantry was never right for you, and we all knew it, save for mother, of course.  If father hasn’t told you already, ignore her letter.  It’s dreadful.  She and father had quite the row over it.  He was not going to allow her to send it, but after chucking a piece of her prized Orlesian porcelain at his head, he acquiesced to her request.  For her size, she has a surprising amount of strength behind her arm.  She has since ordered a new set of tableware, and father sleeps in his dressing room.  Mother’s upset about that (whatever will the servants think?), but he won’t budge until she admits she was in the wrong.  Their reconciliation may take a while._
> 
> _Once Henry gets here, perhaps he and I can come visit you.  Father wishes to send troops to your little heretical organization – can you believe that? House Trevelyan siding with the heretics.  Great-Aunt Lucille is absoloutely bursting with the excitement of it. Henry and I could ride in with the troops._
> 
> _I am very sorry to hear about Em.  I know how close the two of you were.  He was a good man and did not deserve his fate.  I attended his service with father.  It was well attended.  He would have made a good Bann.  Talking about arms, he had a good one.  I’ll always remember that apple he threw that hit Ser Gregor Morn square in the forehead.  It was worth the thrashing we received.  Not that you would know, since you managed to somehow talk your way out of it.  Be strong, sister.  Know that you have people who love you and wish you every blessing._
> 
> _With love and affection,_
> 
> _Maxwell_
> 
> _P.S. Nevermind Mother’s rantings about Jorel.  He was not expelled, merely transferred.  He’s now in Starkhaven, and from what I hear, is up for a promotion.  I wrote to him for you.  I hope you do not mind.  I truly believe he cared for you, Eve.  If he writes, be gentle.  Knowing you, you’ve already found comfort elsewhere.  Not that I blame you.  Not with what you must be going through.  Maker’s Breath, I know I’d do the same.  Three times over.   Be safe, Eve.  And please don’t forget your draught this time.  Mother will make all of our lives miserable if you do.  You should have seen the letters I received._
> 
> _P.P.S.  Father has agreed to let Henry and I lead the troops to Haven.  It will take time as we will have to wait until the crossing season begins.  The weather is foul this year, I am told.  Expect us in four or five months._

Evelyn smiled at the letter.  She could not wait to see her brothers.  It pleased her to no end to find out that they were alive and well.  And Jorel, well, she doubted he had been as sincere as Maxwell thought, but she was relieved to find out that mother had not ruined the templar’s life.  She giggled down at the parchment and held it to her chest.  Four months.  Well, there was a lot to do in that time.  Maker knew there was enough to keep her busy before their visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that has bothered me in other fics is the quick travel times. Thedas is a large continent, and I do not think that the Inquisition could easily travel to the Hinterlands in a single day. The terrain is hard, and hilly, and would cause a lot of delay. Not to mention all of the skirmishes they get into on the way. They would have to stop to clean their weapons, their armour, and strip the bodies of the fallen of useful items and gear. This takes time. I've tried to make things more realistic, and even then, I think I'm underestimating how much time it would truly take to march all the way from Haven to the Storm Coast. A co-worker of my husband decided to walk to a town that is only a 40 minute drive away. He had to stop and sleep in a field over night. Coincidentally, he had brought his dog along with him. His dog had gotten into poison ivy, and when he cuddled with the animal to keep warm, he got the sap all over his body. Who sleeps naked in a field with their dog, I don't know, but that's what happened. My husband and I had a good laugh over that one.
> 
> Also, Bull. Now, don't get me wrong, I rode the bull and was completely happy about it, but he is not chiseled. He does not have Cullen or Dorian's body. He's got a belly. It's just half hidden by that belt. I wanted to make sure that the Bull in my story had that. Just a little pet peeve.
> 
> And truly, really, thanks for reading. I decided to join the modern age and start a tumblr account. You can find me here: http://mimimerlotfanfic.tumblr.com/ I still really don't know how to use the damn site, but I'm totally willing to learn.
> 
> Edit: October 26th, 2015 13:40
> 
> I feel the need to re-write the first two chapters. I originally wanted to incorporate the opening events of DA:I so that I could showcase this particular inquisitor's personality, but now I just think it's slow and boring. If you're reading fanfic you know all of that crap. We've all played the game enough. I also know that I can be my own worst critic. What do you all think?


	8. Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn has recruited the Templars and given them status as full allies, but her ordeal with Envy has left her feeling more alone than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! Started a new job this week.

Evelyn stared at the flames.  She had pulled both chairs up close to the hearth and wrapped herself in her blanket.  Her feet were crossed ankle over ankle on the chair across from her.  An empty jug of beer sat on the floor next to her, and a newly opened bottle of Antivan wine – thanks to Josephine – sat next to it. 

Cullen had been here, thinking a pep talk would cheer her, but it just left her feeling worse.  She had been glad when he finally rose from the chair, set his mug on the table and wished her a good night.  It might have helped if he truly shared his experiences in the Ferelden Circle, but he skirted the issue, and his wariness to talk about it made her feel bereft and empty.  His avoidance of the subject only proved how horrible an experience it was to have a demon in your head.  He was still dealing with it after a decade.  He gave little comfort.

The events at Therinfal Redoubt shook her.  She clenched her jaw and reached down for the bottle of wine to refill her cup.  A demon had been inside her mind. It had been so easy.  It took a fraction of a second and a demon was in control of her.  It simply touched her, and suddenly she was trapped in her own mind, fighting to get out.  Her hand trembled as she poured.

She set the bottle back down and took a sip of the wine.  It was slightly spicy.  Cloves, she thought.  She cupped the glass with both hands and closed her eyes.  She had tried praying.  She had lain on the floor in supplication, cheek pressed to her rug.  She laid there for hours reciting the Chant in its entirety.  _Trust in the Chant_ , her father had written her.  She tried, oh Maker, she had tried, but there was nothing.  No answer.  Just this sense of emptiness and fear and the crackle of the fire.  The only thing that had reached out to help her was a spirit.  A spirit!  A strange spirit who looked like a boy.  She shuddered and took a long drink.  Wine dribbled down the corner of her mouth.  She left it.  The Maker had truly abandoned them.  Her.   He had left her to demons and spirits.  He did not care.  It was a lie.  It was all a lie.  Evelyn choked back a sob.

She rose from her seat, the blanket sliding off of her shoulders.  She glowered at the metal cup and its engraved filigree. She whipped it as hard as she could at the fireplace.  It clanged against the stone and the fire hissed.  Drops of wine spattered over her blanket. 

Spinning on her heel, Evelyn grabbed her cloak from its peg by the door and stalked toward the gates of Haven.  A guard saluted her, but she ignored him and kept walking, her feet crunching in the snow.  She walked past the tents and torches and into the long dark of the valley.  There was enough starlight between the clouds to find her footing. 

It was cold tonight.  She snorted.  It was always cold at Haven, but tonight It bit into her skin and shivered down her spine.  She pushed her thoughts away from it and marched forward, letting her feet decide her path.  Her mind was empty, save for a rasping whisper.  It burned into her brain and laughed.  It laughed and taunted and ridiculed, refusing to leave her be.

 _Maker, why have you left us?_ She asked silently for the hundredth time that night.

_The knife slid across Cullen’s throat.  Blood welled from the wound and he collapsed to the floor._

_What have I done?  Maker, how can I make it right?_

_People in chains at her order.  Crying.  Screaming.  Mercy, mercy!_

_Andraste, save me._

_I will know you._

_Maker, come back to us.  Please!_

It was not until she felt warmth spread to her toes that Evelyn looked around her.  The smithy.  She looked behind her at her footprints in the snow, and realized she must have walked an entire circuit of the valley.  She held her stiff fingers close to the forge.

“My lady?”

The sleepy voice made her jump.  She peered into the corner and saw Blackwall sitting up in his cot.  He frowned at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hastily withdrawing her hands from the warmth of the forge.  She took a step backward.  “I did not mean to disturb you.  Please, accept my apology.”  She turned.

“My lady,” Blackwall said again.  He was up on his feet and was soon beside her.  He took her arm and pulled her around to face him.  He frowned down at her, his eyes moving rapidly as he took in the sight of her. He hissed.  “You’re freezing.  How long have you-“ His nose wrinkled at her breath.  Blackwall furrowed his brow and shook his head.  “No, let’s get you back into your quarters, aye?”

He kept his hand firmly locked on her elbow and guided her back through the gates and into her hut.  He took in the empty jug, the nearly empty bottle of wine and the dented cup laying on its side with a grunt.  His jaw moved.

“This is a scene I know all too well,” he said quietly as he brought her to a chair.  He picked up the blanket and tucked it around her.  “Normally I’d say that the wine would help warm you, but I think you’ve had enough.”

Evelyn snorted.  “There isn’t enough wine in Haven.”

“There’s enough to make you puke your guts out and make you feel like shit come morning, I’d wager you that.”  He picked up the bottle, jug and cup and set them on the table near the window before settling himself in the chair Cullen had sat in before.

“I don’t know much about templars and demons, Herald, but I know enough to notice when something is eating at a person.”  He shifted his weight in the chair.  Evelyn looked at him carefully.  The man was speaking slowly, choosing his words.  “And I’d say something happened at Therinfal Redoubt that’s eating at you.  You haven’t been the same since we got back.”

Evelyn looked away.

“I won’t force you to talk about it.  Heaven knows, I understand.  But if you want to, I’m here.”

 _Do me a favour and find someone to talk to.  I know how you bottle things up,_ Maxwell had written.  She swallowed.  He was safe.  Both he and Henry were safe.  No demons.  No red lyrium.  Safe.

“It wanted to be me.” She forced out the words.

Blackwall waited.

“The demon.  It was inside of me.  It sorted through everything.  It knew so much.  Everything I thought it took for itself.” She paused.  She worried at the corner of her lip with her teeth. “It showed me horrible things.”  She kept her eyes on the fire, away from Blackwall.  She could not look at him.  There would be no understanding in his eyes.  This was not something he could understand unless it happened to him. 

“But you defeated it,” Blackwall said.

“Did I?  I don’t feel like I have.  It’s almost like it’s still there.  I see it over and over and over again.  It won’t go away.”  She leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands.  She rubbed her temples.

“Most likely it’ll always be there.”

Evelyn laughed. It came out as a bark.  “Well, that’s comforting.”

“Most of life isn’t very comforting.  It’ll fade.  In time.”

Evelyn did look at him then.  He was staring into the fire, his gaze far away.

“Speaking from experience?”

Blackwall gave a ghost of a smile.  “Something like that.”  He looked up and their eyes met.

 _Yes_ , she thought, _he speaks from experience_.  A permanent furrow had formed on his brow.  Laughter did not come easily to him.  _What happened?_ she wondered.  He opened his mouth and then closed it.  He looked away.

“My brothers are templars,” she said.  “They’re in Ostwick, with my father.  But. . .  That could have been them.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No.  But it could have been.  Blackwall,” she closed her eyes and rubbed her face.  “Everything is falling apart.  I looked up to the order.  I was so proud of my family.  My brothers in their armor and- It was their duty.  They represented something beyond us.  Beyond Thedas.  They represented the Maker.  Andraste.  They were the Chantry’s will.  And now-“ She stood, this time picking up the blanket and laying it over the arm of the chair.  “They’re just as fragile as the mages.  Everything I’ve been told.  Everything I’ve been taught, it’s-“ She swallowed.  She began pacing.  “It’s wrong.  The Chantry is wrong.  Everything- I don’t know what to think.  It’s all wrong!”  She slammed her fist into the doorframe.

And then Blackwall was standing behind her, his arms circling around her waist.  She leaned her head back onto his shoulder with a sigh.  He kissed her temple.

“I can’t say anything that will help,” he said quietly into her ear.  His lips brushed against her lobe.  She closed her eyes.  “But know, you’re not alone.”

Evelyn swallowed.  Her eyes watered.  She wiped at them with the back of her hand.

“Blackwall.”  She turned in his arms to face him.  “Will you stay?”

He pressed his forehead against her own.  His body relaxed against hers.  “Aye, I’ll stay.”

“Will you hold me?” she asked.  Her throat tightened.  The pressure behind her eyes was too much to keep back any longer.

“As long as you need me to.”  He stroked the back of her neck with a knuckle.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his collar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to look at the emotions behind the dialogue options that one can choose for an Inquisitor who's doubting their faith. Hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Duty and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corypheus showed his hand and lost the round. An injured Evelyn now finds herself leading an army of the faithful to promised safety.

Evelyn stopped and looked back at the trail of refugees behind her.  Wind ripped at their clothes as they huddled in on themselves.  It was a slow march through the snow.  Solas had insisted this was the shortest route, but Evelyn was beginning to have doubts about this venture.  They had lost four people to exposure in the last week.

“How’re you keeping up?  Do we need to call a break?” Cullen asked from her elbow.

She forced a smile.  “I’ll be fine until the next camp.  I think we’d be better off to keep moving.  It’ll keep us warmer than standing around.”

Cullen looked at her for a moment before nodding.  Evelyn smiled again and continued onward, following Solas’ footprints.

Truth be told, Evelyn was tired.  Her ribs ached, and while a mage had healed her, it did not stop the pain of both ligaments and bones knitting back together.  Every movement she made brought red pain shooting through her body.  She was living in a hazy swirl of white and red.  She had consumed so much elfroot she felt like she was floating.  She closed her eyes as the wind blew a blast of powdery snow into her face and down the neck of her armour.  She stumbled.

Cullen’s arm was quickly under her arm.  “You can’t continue on like this.”

Evelyn snorted.  “I don’t have much choice, do I?”  She wiped the melting snow from her eyes and looked ahead.  She could see the outline of both Solas and Blackwall standing up on a ledge.  Solas was leaning on his staff, while Blackwall shielded his eyes from the wind.  They were looking out at something in the distance.  Blackwall pointed and Solas shook his head. 

She frowned.  Ever since their exodus from Haven the warden had been distant.  She never received more than pleasantries from the man.  She often found him looking at her when he thought he was unobserved, but the moment she caught his eye he would frown and look away.  He kept himself constantly busy, helping refugees, taking care of the pack animals, chopping wood for the fires, and any other chore he could make up for himself.  If she approached him there was always a task he had to get to.  She had begun to think the words ‘My Lady’ were the only ones in his vocabulary.  It hurt her, his avoidance.  The night before she had sealed the breach he had been so loving, and supportive.  He had held her all night as she cried into his shoulder.  He had stroked her back and crooned comforting nothings into her ear.  He listened to her fears, her doubts, and her struggles with her faith.  He had not made a single judgement.  He simply listened and allowed her to let everything out and get it off of her chest.  In the morning she had awoken alone, but tucked into bed.  She’d felt lighter, even if the skin around her eyes were tight. 

And now. . .  Had she exposed too much of herself to him?  Had she read him incorrectly?  Perhaps she had placed too much meaning in his attentions with the grief of Emmerson’s death and the stress of the role that she was forced to play.  Maybe he had only wanted the physical aspect of their relationship.  Maker knew how long he had wandered the wilderness alone.  It was understandable that he had taken her up on her offer in the valley.  How long had it been since he had shared the pleasures of flesh?  She had shared too soon.  She must have scared the poor man away.  She looked away from Blackwall’s silhouette and focused on walking forward.

“Looks like we will camp soon,” Cullen said with a nod at the pair on the ledge. He helped her wade through a deep bank of snow.  She groaned as she lifted her legs high to march through.  The movement caused her to activate the muscles in her core and it set off a string of pain.  She leaned into the Commander for support.  He snaked an arm around her, but he avoided her tender ribs and held onto her hip with a firm grip.  She gripped his shoulder with one hand and heaved a foot up and out of the two foot pile of snow.  She hissed through her teeth.

Unlike Blackwall, Cullen had appeared to glue himself to her side when he was not overseeing his men.  And even then, when he did have to leave her, he always assigned two of his soldiers to help her.  She was grateful.  She doubted she would have made it as far as she had without him. Bull had offered to carry her, and she had let him try at one point, but the jostling hurt more than walking.

 By the time she and Cullen made it to the ledge, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine were already there.  Josephine had wrapped herself in what looked to be a bed throw.  She kept marching on the spot as she shivered.  Everyone was squinting into the setting sun.  Evelyn followed their line of sight and her eyes opened wide.

“Skyhold,” Solas said quietly.  She could barely hear him over the roar of the wind.

In the distance was a large keep, perched atop a mountain peak.  Their destination.  She let out a sigh and her body relaxed against Cullen’s.  He pulled her closer. 

Evelyn squinted.  “How far?”  There were still a couple of valleys between them and the fortress. 

“A week, Solas says,” Cassandra said from Evelyn’s other side.

“There is a path along that ridge.”  Solas pointed at a line of trees.  “It will take us straight there.”

Evelyn nodded.  “So we will bypass the valleys.”

“That is correct.”

“Good,” she said.  “I really was not looking forward to wading through more snow.”

Solas chuckled.  “I cannot guarantee that will not happen, but there will be less of it.  We will be on the lee of the main peak, so I can guarantee less wind.”

“That’s a relief in and of itself,” said Cullen running a gloved hand through his windblown hair.

“Herald,” said Cassandra.  She turned away from the view and looked down at the line of people approaching.  “I suggest we make camp here.  There’s shelter in the trees over there.  The view of Skyhold will bring cheer to their hearts.”

“And Maker knows they need it,” added Cullen.

Evelyn looked back out at the keep.  “We all need it.”  She nodded at Cassandra.  “I agree.  Make camp.”

The front of the line of refugees caught up with them then, and a chorus of shouts let out and began to go down the ranks.

“Skyhold!”

“The keep!  We’re almost there!”

“At last!”

More than a few people fell to their knees and cried at the sight of the walls.

The atmosphere at camp was jovial.  People laughed and told stories around the fires late into the night.  Hidden flasks came out from beneath cloaks and were passed around.  Giggles were heard from tents and the shadows.  Maryden even took out her lute from its layers of furs.  The hunters had outdone themselves and every pot had fresh meat.

Evelyn sat in front of the fire in front of her tent cocooned in what felt like a dozen furs and blankets.  Cullen had ensured she was warm and at rest before he went off to set the watch.  She was warm, her belly was full for the first time in weeks, and the sounds of merrymaking lulled her into a sense of security and safety.  Her eyes drooped.

A chuckle woke her from her doze.  “Alright, Herald, up and at ‘em,” came Varric’s voice from somewhere to her left.  She blinked and looked up.  “Time to get you into bed.”

She did not argue when the dwarf helped her waddle in her fur casing to her tent.

“Sleep well, Herald.  You deserve it.”

~*~

Evelyn stared at Blackwall, she was not sure if she heard him correctly.

“Pardon?”

“I’m fond of you, it’s true, but we cannot let this go any further.”  He looked down and away from her a moment before meeting her eyes again.  “This – whatever you want this to be – is impossible.”

Evelyn swallowed hard as the bottom of her stomach dropped down to her knees.  So she had not imagined it.  He did feel something.   “Why is this impossible?” she asked, shaking her head.  “I know you have feelings for me.  At Haven, when you held me-“

“My Lady, don’t.”  He closed his eyes and waved a hand to cut her off.  She watched as his jaw clenched before he resumed talking.  “You’re the Inquisitor.  The Herald of Andraste.”  He turned away from her abruptly and walked down the ramparts. 

Evelyn watched him, too stunned to say anything.

“We must remain focused on the task at hand.”

Duty?  This was all about duty?  Evelyn shook herself.  “Why make it about them?” She gestured at the people within the courtyard below them.  “Or about the war?”  She frowned at him.  “It doesn’t have to be.”  She took a step forward. _Why can’t we be happy_ she wanted to scream at him.

Blackwall stepped back.  “I wish it was simple, but it’s not.  We are both bound by duty.  Our lives aren’t ours to live.”

“Bullshit.”  The word came out before she thought.  Blackwall winced.  “That’s complete and utter bullshit.”  She clenched her fists at her side.

Blackwall swallowed.  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Evelyn watched him walk away from her.  When the door of the tower closed behind him she swore.

She braced herself against the ramparts and looked down in the courtyard.  People were scurrying about, set on tasks to get Skyhold operational.  Many of them had lost friends, family, and loved ones.  There were many widows and widowers in their ranks, and yet they continued on.  There was laughter and hope in not just their voices, but in the way they moved.  They no longer hunched over and walked quietly in shadow.  Now they strode proudly, chests up, backs straight, with purpose.

Being named Inquisitor had thrown her for a loop.  She accepted only because she felt she was ganged up on.  All of those faces looked expectantly up at her, hoping, praying.  She could not simply say no to such a crowd.  And then suddenly a sword much too big for her was in her hands and those expectant faces were now expectant ears. 

“This isn’t about a greater message,” she had declared.  “We have an enemy and we have to stand together.”  As heads began to nod in agreement, her confidence grew.  “We’ll do what is _right_.  The Inquisition will fight for all of us.”  She made a point of acknowledging both the templars and mages in the crowd.

A great cheer rose at her words.  Warmth spread through her and she smiled at Cassandra.  Their enthusiasm rubbed off on her.  It gave her the strength she needed.  She had thwarted Corypheus, staved off death, brought her people – yes, _her people_ \- through an icy hell and now she was Inquisitor with a fortress of her own.  She was on top of the world, capable of achieving anything she set her sights on.

But Blackwall, in a few sentences, had kicked the stool from under her, and she could feel her legs flailing as she fought for breath.  She closed her eyes.  It was too much.  How did someone survive these emotional peaks and valleys?

“Inquisitor?”

She swallowed and looked up at the soldier who approached.  She straightened.

“Lady Leliana would like to speak with you in the mews, Inquisitor.”

“Yes.  Thank you, soldier.” She said with a nod.  The man, boy, really, saluted and turned smartly on his heel.

Evelyn ran her fingers under her eyes and pressed against her temples.  She took in a deep breath and walked toward the stairs.  She needed to write to her family anyway.  Hopefully she caught them before her brothers left Ostwick for Haven.

~*~

 

 

 

> _Dear Father,_
> 
> _I hope this letter arrives before Maxwell and Henry leave with your company of soldiers.  Events have occurred that have changed the Inquisition’s plans.  An army of twisted mages lead by a blighted magister descended upon Haven.  This magister claims to be Corypheus, one of the Magisters who entered the Fade and caused the Blight.   We defeated the army at cost of our position.  Corypheus fled the field.  We have relocated to a stronghold in the mountains.  It is called Skyhold.  Enclosed is a copy of a map with its location._
> 
> _I have been named Inquisitor._
> 
> _Maker have mercy on all of us._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Evelyn_

~*~

After sending her letter, Evelyn decided to tour the keep.  If anything, it would keep her busy.  Enough decisions, petitions and requests for orders would be thrown her way to keep her mind off what it wanted to dwell on.   When she descended the steps to the lower courtyard she found Cullen issuing orders at his makeshift station by the surgeon’s tents.  She smiled at the sight.  At least some things never changed.

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked as she approached.

He smiled at her approach.  “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw – and I wouldn’t want to. . .”  He frowned down at his maps.  “We must be ready.  Work on Skyhold is underway.  Guard rotations established.  We should have everything on course within the week.” He looked up at her.  “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

She nodded in response and looked down at the reports he had scattered on the table.  She forced herself to ask the question she did not want to ask.  “How many were lost?”

Cullen sighed.  “Most of our people made it to Skyhold.  It could have been worse.”

Evelyn concentrated on a report concerning state of the walls to block out the mental images of the hastily erected burial cairns that now dotted their path to Skyhold.

“The escape from Haven,” she began.  She looked up at Cullen.  “It was close.  I’m relieved that you- that so many made it out,” she said sincerely.

“As am I,” he said before looking away.

“You were a great source of strength for me during our retreat,” she said.  “I don’t think I would have made it without you.  Thank you.”  She smiled at him and when he did not respond, she turned to let him get back to his duties. 

“You stayed behind,” he said.  She turned back around at his voice.  “You could have-“  He stopped and furrowed his brows.  “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again.”  Cullen looked her in the eye.  “You have my word.”

“Well,” she said with a grin, attempting to diffuse the situation.  She guessed at the amount of guilt he felt at thrusting her into the path of an archdemon on her own.  The way he had hovered around her and ensured her comfort and safety while travelling to Skyhold told her that.  “I feel safer already.  Again, thank you, Cullen, for everything.  I’ll let you get to it.  Speak to you later?”

“I would like that.”

She smiled again and continued her tour of her new keep.


	10. Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn receives word from home.

> _Dear Inquisitor Trevelyan,_
> 
> _This is dire news.  Your ambassador kindly appended a detailed account of what transpired at Haven to your missive.  I do not know which emotion wins – fear or pride?  Please, fancy titles or not, you are my daughter, and I wish to see you survive this.  Try not to take any more risks such as facing an evil darkspawn and an archdemon alone._
> 
> _Your brothers left two days ago.  I have sent a rider to meet them._
> 
> _Take care of yourself, Inquisitor, if not for your sake, then for all in Thedas.  If we are to win this and bring peace to this world, then we need you alive and well.  You have become a symbol of hope.  I will speak to the other Banns and see if I can get more support sent your way._
> 
> _With love and respect,_
> 
> _Bann Edwick Trevelyan_

 

_~*~_

> _Dear Evelyn,_
> 
> _I found the letter you sent.  Your father thought to hide it from me, but I know all of his spots._
> 
> _I just returned from a visit at Aunt Lucille’s, and public opinion of you and the Inquisition has turned to the positive.  And you lead it?  Finally, you are now respectable.  If you are to die fighting darkspawn, at least you will bring honour to the family.  The Inquisition is better than those murderous Grey Wardens.  They may fight the blight, but you do know how they grow their ranks?  Murderers and thieves, the lot of them._
> 
> _Stop denying your role as the Herald of Andraste.  The title has increased the family’s reputation considerably._
> 
> _Listen to Henry when your brothers arrive.  He has sense and a solid head on his shoulders.  More than I can say for your current advisors.  Sending a woman out by herself to fight a dragon and Maker knows what that magister is?  Fools, the lot of them._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Mother_

~*~

> _Eve,_
> 
> _You fought a dragon?  I am impressed.  Expect us soon._
> 
> _Maxwell_

~*~

> _Dear Sister,_
> 
> _Father’s courier arrived with a copy of your letter and map.  We will change course accordingly._
> 
> _Stay safe, Inquisitor.  Try to keep some enemies for us._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Henry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting a week! Life has reared its head a bit. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this.


	11. Big Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn returns to Skyhold after rescuing Inquisition soldiers in The Fallow Mire and meeting Hawke's friend Stroud in Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me wishing there were still final attack animations in the series. And yay for party combos.
> 
> And yes, this Sera prefers duel wielding daggers over a bow when it comes to a lot of combat. I don't like running with two archers.

“Oh shit!  She sees us!”  cried Sera, unsheathing her daggers.  Within a second the elf had vanished from view.

Evelyn’s eyes widened as the dragon launched itself into the air from the top of the ruins in the middle of the valley.  She reached back for an arrow and watched as the beast began to fly overhead.  She could not hear for the roar of its wings.

“Inquisitor!” called Blackwall as he ran forward.  “Behind me!”

The dragon landed on the earth.  The ground shook under the force of it, and Evelyn stumbled backward.  The dragon reared its head and roared, purple sparks flashing out of its mouth.

“Lightning!” screamed Dorian as he sent fireballs at the dragon’s head.  “It’s immune to lightning!”

“Damn it!” yelled Sera as she re-emerged behind the dragon’s front left arm.  “When I just got this lightning rune.  Figures!” She slashed at the limb, spun, and threw an ice grenade as she flipped out of the way. 

Evelyn kneeled down and aimed.  The arrow flew straight into its neck.  The dragon shook its head, and the arrow was flung harmlessly out.   _Hunting, Evelyn.  You’re just hunting.  Hunting a big ol’. . . Wyvern.  Remember that time you hunted the wyvern at the-_

The dragon thwacked its tail against a stilted tree.  It smashed into pieces.

“Maker have mercy on our souls,” she whispered.

Dorian’s warning cry almost came too late.  She dodged quickly to her left as a streak of lighting came straight at her.  It caught her foot and she screamed as the electricity streamed through her body.  She shook uncontrollably as her body went rigid.  Her screaming stopped abruptly, her voice gave out.   _Somebody help me!  Maker!_

“You’re not giving up this fight!” cried Blackwall as he ran over.

The dragon screeched.

The electricity stopped flowing and Evelyn gasped.

“Get up!” Blackwall screamed into her ear.

She grabbed his forearm and he pulled her up with a wrench.  He paused long enough to nod at her and then turned.  He ran back toward the dragon.

Evelyn took in a deep breath and picked up her bow.  She sighted another arrow and let it fly.  Soon, she found her momentum.  Now that she knew the warning signs, she could tell when she should run out of the way of the dragon’s ranged attack.  She began to dodge and fire, dodge and fire.  If the dragon decided to make a leap at her, Blackwall was soon by her side, his screaming attracting the full attention of the beast while she faded and made her escape.

The battle raged and seemingly had no end.  Evelyn was out of restoration potions and she could tell Dorian was beginning to tire.  His mustache was drooping.  Sera had given up on screaming obscenities, and Blackwall had lost his shield.

“It’s tiring just as much as us,” Blackwall called from underneath the creature’s belly.  He swiped at its bloody leg.  “Keep at it!”

Evelyn breathed.  She only had a handful of arrows left.

“Look up!” Sera called.  She tossed a fire grenade at the dragon’s head. 

The animal launched itself into the air with a scream.  Evelyn threw herself to the ground in order to escape the updraft.  She squeezed her eyes shut against the spray of dirt and debris.

Dorian cast more fireballs.  The animal screamed again.

“Everyone aim for its head as it comes in.”  Blackwall ordered.  The dragon swung around on one wing and came diving toward them.   “Here it comes!”

Evelyn knelt and focused her sight down the length of the arrow.  She aimed, and calculated for both the wind and the dragon’s trajectory as if she were sighting a deer.  She released the arrow and it flew straight into the soft temple just outside the eye.  She darted forward and drew an arrow as she ran.  She leapt up onto its outstretched leg and used its movement to help launch herself onto the animal’s back.  She ran to the base of its neck, and fired between the vertebrae at close range.  She shot a second arrow soon after the first, and as the dragon lurched, she back flipped and landed with a roll. She was really beginning to get the hang of this whole battle thing, she thought.  Maker knew she had a lot of practice in the last few months.

Blackwall yelled something incoherent and stabbed upward and into the dragon’s throat, just below the chin.  The beast shuddered and collapsed onto its stomach just as Blackwall rolled away and out from under it.  The dragon fell to its side, its head whipped around in a flash, and then crashed into a ruin with a wet thunk.

Evelyn heaved herself up to her feet and gaped at the dead dragon, unable to register what she was looking at.  Her chest heaved as she gulped in air.  She scraped her teeth along her lower lip.  Water.  She needed water.

“Big heroes, us!” Sera stared down at the dragon corpse, hands on her hips.  “That was. . .” She spun to face Dorian.  “That was great!” She roared, her fists punched the air.

“I could have done that all day.”  Dorian grinned back at her.  He leaned onto his staff- his breath came in shallow gasps.

“Great?” Evelyn said, her face flushed.  Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might explode.  That thought was the only thing keeping her from running up and chest bumping Sera.  “That was amazing.  We just killed a fucking _dragon_.”

“I know, right?” Sera squealed.

“Done and done!” crowed Blackwall, breaking his stony silence for the first time since they had set out from Skyhold.  Save for when in battle, the time they found the warden banners in The Fallow Mire, and the one time he spoke when they were with Hawke and Stroud, Blackwall had remained mute and sullen. 

Evelyn had brought Blackwall along out of consideration.  He was a warden, after all, and he had a right to know what was going on with the order.  It had been uncomfortable trip to this point.  Even when they had met Stroud he had stayed silent unless asked a direct question.  She had found that odd, him not wanting to talk to a colleague.  Dorian had frowned at this too, she noticed, though he never said anything about it.

Evelyn glanced over at Blackwall.  His face was split into a grin and his eyes were lit with a fire she had not seen since that afternoon the pair of them had spent in the valley.  She grinned back at him and slapped his arm. 

“Better than facing a druffalo?” she ventured.

Somehow his grin got wider.  “Damn right it was.”  He met her eyes.

She held his gaze, her stomach flipped.  Warmth spread into her groin as the memories of what they’d done after the druffalo kill surfaced.  She knew he was remembering them too, because a slight flush appeared on his cheeks. He kept his eyes on hers.  Evelyn licked her lips.

 “So, uh, how’re we gonna like, skin and scrape this thing?  I thought dragons were supposed to have treasure.  I don’t see no treasure.  Is it in its stomach, do ya think?” asked Sera.  She fingered her blades.

“Oh, please.  That’s disgusting,” Dorian said.  He looked up from his staff.  The blade had been knocked askew by a dragon talon.

Evelyn broke contact with Blackwall and looked at the dead beast.  The materials recovered from it would be valuable, treasure or no.  But the thought of skinning it. . .  She wrinkled her nose.  It would be long and bloody work.  She was the Inquisitor.  She did not have to be responsible for that.

 “We’ll have people from camp take care of that,” she said.

 “That,” Dorian nodded, “is a sensible suggestion.”

“Is everyone alright?” asked Evelyn.

“Yeah!” said Sera.  “I mean, yes.  I’m alive.  Really. . . alive.”  She stared down at herself.

“Do you think Josephine would allow me to hang the head above the throne?” Evelyn asked.  “I really want to hang it over the throne.”

Sera laughed.  “Ooooo!  That’d scare the piss outa the fancypants that come in.”

“Evelyn, you’re a dear, but interior decorating is not your strong suit.”  Dorian fiddled with the blade.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Blackwall. 

Dorian looked at him.  “The Inquisitor should not take decorating advice from a hairy lummox.”

Blackwall sighed.  “I thought we agreed you would stop calling me that.”

“Did we?  I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

“Cool it, you two,” Evelyn said.  Dorian winked at Blackwall.  The warden scowled. “Let’s go back to camp.  We’ve got quite the trek back to Skyhold yet.”

“We just killed a dragon!” yelled Sera as the group set off back to the camp.  “Fucking right.”

The trip back to the keep was enjoyable.  Their dragon slaying had brought the group together, and most importantly, thought Evelyn, Blackwall had stepped out from under his black cloud and decided to join in on the banter.  The heat never quite returned like it did immediately after the battle, but he sat next to her at the fire and chatted about harmless topics like the state of their equipment.  It was an improvement and it was all she could ask for at the moment.  There was something going on with him, she was certain.  She wondered if it had to do with Stroud.  Neither one of them had shown any eagerness to speak with the other back in that cave.

The messenger from the camp must have arrived at Skyhold before them, because as they rode into the lower courtyard, Iron Bull came barrelling down the stairs to meet them.

“You killed a dragon?  Without me?  Boss, how could you?”

Evelyn laughed.  “It certainly was not planned.”

“Ugh!”  Bull threw his hands up.  “What was it like?  What was the thrill like as it stared down at you, its maw open and fire roared at you?”

“Lightning, actually,” said Dorian as he dismounted.  “No fire.  Except mine, of course.” A waiting stable boy took his horse’s lead.

“It was awesome!” Sera cried.  “You should have seen the Herald.  There was this one time, where I thought that beast was gonna bite her head right off, but she leapt back, somersaulting in the air like a badass.  And then Blackwall nearly hacked its leg right off.  Dorian wouldn’t let me cut its stomach open.  There better be treasure.”

Evelyn handed her reins off to another stable hand and grinned up at the Qunari.  “Next time, I promise.”

“I’ll keep you to that, Boss.”

“I expect you to.”

He regarded her and nodded slowly before turning away.  He stopped.  “You’re bringing its head back to Skyhold, right?”

“Oh, not this again.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

Blackwall laughed.  “Looks like the spoiled prince is outnumbered.”

Evelyn grinned.  “Right above the throne.”

“Ha!” Iron Bull slapped his thigh.  “That’s the perfect place for it.  It’ll show everyone how dangerous you are.”

“I was going more for incredibly amazing, but dangerous works too,” said Evelyn.  “But before anything happens, I’m having a bath.”  She waved at everyone, and headed toward the stairs.

“Seriously, though.  Treasure,” Sera said.

~*~

The bath, while short due to the amount of paperwork Evelyn found waiting for her, was grand.  It was still a collapsible tub, but her knees did not knock her chin, which was superior than the tub in Haven.  Not that it was hard for anything to be better than Haven.  Save for the Fallow Mire.  No place could be worse than there.  The stench alone was enough to keep anybody off.  It took weeks to get the bog and undead reek from her hair.  While she had begun to grow her hair out, it was still quite short.

Josephine had kept the servants busy while she had been wading in undead and meeting Hawke and the warden in Crestwood.  Her quarters were larger than any she had before, even at the Trevelyan country estate.  They were larger than her parent’s rooms.  The four poster bed was a nice touch.  She made a point of remembering to thank Josephine for adding a touch of the Free Marches into the décor.  She did have to remind the servant who brought her wine to ensure the balcony doors were always shut.  The mountains did not boast a warm clime.

Evelyn read and signed off on reports until her wine goblet was empty and her stomach was rumbling.  She finished scrawling the advice “Ban Varric and Bianca if you want anyone to have a chance” on the bottom of a request for an archery contest and then blotted and sealed it.  She tossed the roll in the basket with the rest.  She stretched and rolled her neck.  To the dining hall, then.  She grinned to herself.  The dining hall.  _Her_ dining hall.  It was certainly a step up from squatting in a crumbling chantry.

Skyhold was still under construction, and the dining hall was furnished with the mere basics, but it was better than what it was when they had arrived.  When she stepped onto the dais of the main hall all activity stopped.  The sound of scraping chairs and benches echoed throughout the space as soldier and noble alike stood as their leader and host entered the room.  It felt like being at home, entering her father’s hall to his soldiers’ salute.  She nodded to those assembled and slowly made her way to the table where Josephine and Leliana were standing by.  It was too late to change course when she noted that Vivienne stood at Josephine’s right.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said with a deferential nod.  She motioned to the armed chair at the head of the table.

Evelyn laughed.  “So I get the royal treatment now that I’m Inquisitor.  Be careful, I may just get used to this.”

“You should be used to it, Inquisitor,” Vivienne said.  “It is fitting of your rank and stature.”

Evelyn suppressed an eye roll.  “Of course,” she said instead.  She sat down in the chair.  The scrape of bench and chair resounded in the hall once more as everyone else followed suit.

“I received word of your father’s company,” said Leliana as she passed the plate of roast pig.

Evelyn took the offered plate and chose a juicy piece for herself. 

“And?”

“They’re only a couple of weeks away.”

Evelyn smiled, and placed the plate down in front of her.  She waited as Vivienne passed the bowl of wilted greens in cream sauce down the line.  “Good.  We have rooms for Maxwell and Henry?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” said Josephine.  “That wing should be ready by the end of this week.”

Evelen spooned the greens onto her plate and passed them to Leliana.  She sniffed them.

“Is this sorrel?” she asked.

“Embrium greens, I think,” Evelyn said.

Leliana wrinkled her nose and set the bowl down to her far right.  “Too spicy for me.”

Evelyn took the offered platter of cheeses from Josephine and sliced some for herself.  “Was there anything else from my brothers?”

“No, just that they were a fortnight out.  I sent the messenger to report to Commander Cullen.  He’ll find a bunk for her.”

Evelyn took a bite of the sharp cheddar and reached for the bowl of bread.  Vivienne tsked and handed it over.  Evelyn grinned to herself.

“What should we expect from your brothers?” asked Josephine.

“Expect?  Well, they’re templars.  Maxwell has a tendency to get in trouble, but he is a lot of fun.”  Evelyn laughed.  “There was this one time, as children, the Comte du Myrais was visiting my father about some trade agreement between our Houses.   Maxwell snuck into his room and stole a decanter of the Comte’s favourite currant cordial.  He, Henry and I drank it behind the stable.”  Evelyn giggled into her cup.  “They found us in the hay loft, passed out, when we did not show for dinner.  Maxwell ended up fostering for a season with the Comte.  Poor boy.   Henry, well, he’s the elder of the two.  More serious.  He might get roped into Maxwell’s schemes, but he never initiates them.  He was often sent to track apostates.  Maxwell was normally sent to bring in newly emerged mages.  He’s good with kids.”  She glanced at Vivienne, but the woman said nothing.

“And how long will they be staying?” Josephine asked as she passed the butter.

“I don’t know,” answered Evelyn.  She took her table knife from her belt and speared another piece of cheese.  “Probably a few months.  Depends on what Knight-Commander Barris has for them.  They may be ordered back to the Ostwick Circle.  While our family has a bit more freedom than most within the Chantry’s ranks, we are not completely immune to their orders.”

“And no one should be, my dear,” intoned the First Enchanter.  Evelyn ignored her.

“Is there more wine?” asked Evelyn looking down at the silver pitcher by Leliana.

“Oh, sorry,” the spymaster said.  She refilled Evelyn’s goblet.

“Thank you,” she said as Leliana put the pitcher back down.  She took a sip of the mulled wine and smiled.  “Josephine,” she said.  “No doubt all of this,” she waved a hand at the filled tables and benches, “is your doing.  Thank you.  And thank you for the bed.  It looks wonderful. And I can’t wait to give it a try.”

“Goose down mattress,” Josephine said with a satisfied smile.

“Josephine, I may ask for your hand in marriage if you continue to talk to me like that.”

Josephine flushed.  “Merely doing my job and making Skyhold presentable.  We must keep up appearances.”

Evelyn cut off Vivienne before she could give her opinion.  “I agree.  We must present ourselves in the most positive light as possible.”

“I fought a high dragon once,” Leliana said.  All eyes swung to the Left Hand.  They waited for Leliana to stop chewing.  “With the Hero of Ferelden,” she said after she swallowed.

“But I thought you did not meet the archdemon?” said Josephine. 

“Oh no, not the archdemon.  I was not in that fight.  The high dragon, at Haven, actually.  Near the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“You never told me that!” exclaimed Josephine.  She placed her goblet on the table and frowned at Leliana.

“I think Leliana should tell us a story,” suggested Evelyn.

Leliana grinned.  “Well, if you insist.”  She took a sip of her wine.  “We needed the Sacred Ashes to cure Arl Eamon, Arl of Redcliffe. . .”

Evelyn took a bite of the ham and chewed.  This was how she was supposed to be spending her time.  Sitting around a table with friends.  Safe, and warm, and sharing stories.  She smiled, and settled in to listen to someone else’s adventures.


	12. Strawberry Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian visits the Inquisitor in her quarters. Evelyn spills the beans about her love life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter. Please, leave comments if you desire. I would love to add things. I am also starting to accept prompts.

After dinner and a few laughs over Leliana’s impersonation of King Alistair, Evelyn went back up to her quarters.  She still had reports to finish.  Her desk candle was sputtering when she stamped her signet ring into the red wax of the last report.  She pushed back in her chair, and lounged, her feet propped up on her desk.  She sighed and looked at the nearly empty wine pitcher.  She had watered the wine down considerably and while the decision had been prudent at the time, she was regretting it now.  She looked at the staircase, but the thought of going all the way down them, and then all the way back up stopped her.  She really needed to get a bell and pulley system installed, like at the family country estate.  She poured what was left into her goblet and gazed at the overflowing basket of parchment rolls.  So this is how her father felt after locking himself in his study for hours at a time.  It was a strange mixture of pride, accomplishment, weariness, and irritation.  She took a sip of the watered wine and frowned at the pitcher.  It was not _that_ far. . .

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused her to look over.

“Never fear, only little old me,” said Dorian as his head emerged over the railing.

“Did you bring drink?  Please tell me you brought drink,” Evelyn said.  She swung her feet to the ground.

“Oh ye of little faith.  Of course I did,” Dorian said as he stepped up into the room.  He waved a bottle in one hand.  “I cannot vouch for its quality, but it is drink.”

“Oh, thank the Maker.  I didn’t want to have to go down all of those stairs.  I need a bell.”  She grinned.  She downed the dregs of her glass and held it out.  “Fill me up.”

Dorian chuckled.  He pulled the already loosened cork and poured a pale red liquid into her glass.  He used her empty water goblet for himself, filling it to the brim.  He set the bottle on the desk and picked up his glass.  Some of the contents sloshed onto the wood.  They both ignored the mess.  Dorian arranged himself on the loveseat. 

Evelyn took a sip and then puckered her lips.  “Oh!  Maker.”  She looked inside her glass.  “That’s sweet.”

Dorian rose a brow and took his own sip.  “Yes.  Yes, it is, isn’t it?”  Dorian wrinkled his nose and then shrugged.  “Ah well.  Maybe it’s an acquired taste.  Just keep drinking, I’m sure we’ll like it eventually.”

“What is it?”

“Strawberry wine, I believe.”  Dorian swirled a mouthful around his tongue.  “Yes.  That’s exactly it.”

“It’s horrid.”  Evelyn took another drink and leaned back in her chair.

“Indeed.”

The pair of them finished their glasses in companionable silence.  The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the occasional smacking of the lips.

“This really is bad, isn’t it?”  Dorian asked, looking at his empty glass.

Evelyn licked her lips.  “Yup.”

“Would you top me up?”

Evelyn grinned.  “Only if you move over.”

“Done.”

Evelyn got up from her desk and brought both her glass and the bottle over to the sofa.  Dorian sat up as she approached and held his glass ready for her.  She filled his and then hers.  She sat down and placed the bottle on the floor.

“Why’d you get this anyway?” she asked.

Dorian shrugged.  “Scout Harding gave it to me as a thank you gift.  I couldn’t say no.  I would have preferred a fruit basket.”

“Ah.  Yeah.  I get that.  Wait.  Why’d she give you a thank you gift?”

“I promised I wouldn’t say.”

Evelyn looked at him.

“I don’t care how much you give me that stare.  I promised.  A Pavus does not break promises.”

“Is that so?”  Evelyn eyed him carefully.

“That is definitely so.”  Dorian took another sip of the strawberry wine.  He scowled at the glass.

“So, if you promise not to say anything to anyone about what I am about to say, you won’t tell anyone?”

“Oh!”  Dorian grinned and leaned forward.  “I love secrets.  I promise.  I won’t tell anyone.  And now that that is out of the way, what you’re about to tell me wouldn’t concern a certain Grey Warden in our midst, would it?”

Evelyn groaned and slouched down in the sofa.  “I’m not that transparent, am I?”

“No.  Not at all.”  Dorian pursed his lips.  “Alright. Maybe a little.  Ok.  A lot.  Yes.  A lot.  We all know.”

“Ugh.”  Evelyn slid further down so only her back was on the seat of the sofa.  Her head was tilted enough so she could get wine into her mouth.

“So, trouble in paradise?”

Evelyn made a face.  “Yes. No.  I don’t know.  Maybe.”

“That would be a yes.  It always is.”

“Yes,” Evelyn let out the word with sigh.  “Alright.  So.  In Haven we had this moment, right?  It was really. . .” Evelyn smiled as she remembered the hunt.  “Satisfying.”

“Wait.  Wait.  Are you saying the two of you have had sex?”  Dorian’s eyes were shining.

“Yes.  We did.”

“Ha!”  Dorian grinned.  “Varric owes me a gold piece.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes.  “Wait, what?  You’ve been betting on my sex life?”

“Oh, yes.  Varric thought you hadn’t, but both Cassandra and I thought you did.  There was that time, when you went to wash your weapons, remember?  By the lake in the Hinterlands-“

Evelyn laughed.  “That’s not when we had sex.  We’ve only had it once.”  She frowned.  “Really?  Cassandra?”

“Well, Varric doesn’t have to know the details.  I win.  So, when did you have sex?”

“When we hunted for that druffalo.”

“Really?  That soon?  You demon, you.”  Dorian grinned and held his glass up in salute.

Evelyn grinned back.  A slight flush spread over her cheeks. 

Dorian laughed.  “This is getting good.  Please, tell on.”

“So, it was kind of a heat of the moment thing.”  Evelyn made a face.  “Well, no really, I mean, we had flirted before, but. . .  It was mostly heat of the moment.  It’d been a long time.  I spent a year in seclusion, and-“

“A year in seclusion?  Something tells me you aren’t starting at the beginning.”

Evelyn eyed the mage sitting on the other corner of the love seat.  He had one leg curled under the other, and one arm flung comfortably over the armrest of the sofa.

“You made a promise.”

Dorian’s smile faded.  “I did, and I meant it.  Nothing you say leaves this room.”

Evelyn let out a deep breath.  She closed her eyes.  She did not want to regret this.  Telling Josephine was one thing. The ambassador needed to know.  This. . . Telling Dorian was personal.  Evelyn licked her top lip.  Was she ready for that?

“Ah,” said Dorian, catching onto her mood.  “Never mind.  No need.  You were saying about Blackwall. . .”

“No,” Evelyn said with a shake of her head.  “No.  I need to tell someone.  It’s about time.”  She took a deep pull of the wine.  “Well, my family is known for supplying the chantry with loads of clerics and templars.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed.  “Remember, we are related.”

Evelyn smiled.  The fact that she was related to a Tevinter mage made her laugh.  She had to let mother know about that.  She could only imagine the letter she received from her father in response.  No.  She could not do that to him.  “Well, I didn’t want to go to the chantry, but mother finally had her way and off I was sent.  I found myself in the family way by a templar.  Jorel, his name was.  Is.  I guess he’s a Knight-Captain in Starkhaven now.  Anyway, I spent a year at the country estate in reflection.”

“Ah.  Yes.  Good old reflection.  It’s amazing how pious nobility is, isn’t it?”  Dorian said.

Evelyn nodded.  “So it is.  So yeah.  I accepted the offer of my cousin, Emmerson.  We. . . Fixed each other’s problems.”

“Ooo. I smell a scandal.”

“More like an averted one.  He. . .  Well,” Evelyn smiled at him.  “You remind me a lot of Emmerson, actually.  You would have liked him.  You have a lot in common.  He loved facial hair.”

Dorian grinned.  “He sounds like a man with impeccable taste.”  Dorian took a drink of his wine and softened his expression.  “An embarrassment, was he?”

“No!  Not at all.  He was wonderful.  He was admired.  He just. . . The laws surrounding his family’s estate stated he needed to marry and produce an heir in order to gain his title.  He was an only child.  We were best friends.  We grew up together.  He was foster to my father.  It made sense for two people who needed a face for the world.”

Dorian’s voice was quiet.  “You use the past tense.”

“Yes.  I do,” she whispered.  “He died.  At the Conclave.”

“I am sorry.  I did not know.”

“No one does, save for Josephine.  Probably Leliana, but I never told her.”

“Not even Blackwall?”

Evelyn shook her head.  “No.  We never spoke about that.”

“Ah.  So.”  Dorian took a drink  “Sex in the valley.”

Evelyn chuckled.  “Right.  Well, we had flirted a bit.  We got along.  We killed a druffalo, and, well, things got heated.  Against a tree.”

Dorian snorted.  “That does not surprise me, knowing the two of you.  Please, go on.”

“Well that’s it.  That’s the only time.  I mean, there was the time he walked in on me when I was having a bath-“

“Stop right there.”  He held out a hand.  “Explanation needed.”

“I was taking a bath in my hut, and he knocked on the door.  Nothing happened.  He gave me a massage and left.”

“How was the massage?”

“Really nice, actually.  He pays attention to detail.”

“Score one for the hairy lummox, then.”

“More like score two.  The sex in the valley was really good.”

Dorian snorted.  “Fine then.  Score two.”

“And the night before we sealed the breach. . .  I. . .  I was confused.  I was doubting myself, and-“ Evelyn finished the contents of her goblet and reached down for the bottle.  “And everything, really.  He was there for me when I needed it.  And then, then suddenly, nothing.  I mean, you saw it in the Fallow Mire.  Crestwood.  He suddenly recoiled.  When we first arrived at Skyhold he started spouting off about duty and how our lives weren’t our own to live.”  She poured herself a glass and held the bottle out to Dorian.  He poured the rest of the strawberry wine into his goblet.

“Hmmm.”  Dorian waited until the bottle was empty and Evelyn had placed it back on the floor before taking a sip.  “Y’know, it is starting to grow on me.  There’s a bite to it that you wouldn’t expect from strawberries.”  He took another sip.  “Remind me to never do another favour for Harding.  Or if you could tell her about fruit baskets, that’d be preferable.”

Evelyn chucked.  “Will do.”

“Thank you.  Greatly appreciated.”  Dorian made a face and looked at Evelyn carefully.  “Did you notice in Crestwood-“

“How he wouldn’t look Stroud in the eye?” Evelyn threw out.

“Yes.”  Dorian stabbed the air with a finger.  “I wonder what’s going on there.”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn sighed.  “He’s not particularly forth coming about it.”

“No. He wouldn’t be.”  Dorian sat up.  “What about our Commander?”

“Cullen?”  Evelyn arched a brow.  “What about him?”

“Well, he drools over you.”

Evelyn gave Dorian a look.  “What?  You’re imagining things.”

“No, my dear friend, I am doing no such thing.  In fact, there’s a pool-“

“Not another one.”  Evelyn groaned.

“Well, yes.  Though this one is with Varric, Leliana, and Josephine.  Vivienne almost joined, but Sera entered the hall, and well, Vivienne made her pardons.”

“I should be angry, I think.  Do you really have nothing else to do with your time?”

“Not at all.”

Evelyn huffed.  “So yeah.  Blackwall.  He has wonderful chest hair.”

“He got undressed in the snow?”

“No, he took a bath after I did.”

Dorian gave her a look.  “Why do I have the feeling you’re leaving details out of this story?”

“Nothing happened.”  Evelyn laughed.  “I bathed.  He bathed.  He rubbed liniment into my bruises.  The end.”  


Dorian eyed her dubiously.  “Right." He swirled the contents of his cup.  "You don’t think it’s about his past, do you?”

“I have wondered,” she said.

“Well, he warmed up after the dragon.”

“Yes, he did.  A few days before we got back to Skyhold, I thought he was going to-“

“Ask to share a tent?  Yes.  Sera and I noticed that.”

Evelyn sighed.  “I don’t get it.”

“Forget him.  He’s a lummox.  Now, our Cullen. . .”

“Yeah.  Really?  You think he’s into me?”

“Yup,” Dorian agreed.

“I think you’re crazy.  He’s married to his work.”

“But does he want to be?””

“We’re out of wine,” Evelyn said.

“I don’t want to be out of wine.”

Evelyn’s mouth quirked.  “Neither do I, but it’s true.”

Dorian drained his cup.  “Bugger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And no. Nothing about this chapter had anything to do with the fact that Black Books is now available on Canadian Netflix. There is no Fran and Bernard in this story. None. None at all. On your way. Nothing to see here.


	13. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds Evelyn on the ramparts. Evelyn's brothers arrive.

Evelyn leaned against the battlement on her elbows and watched as people began to emerge from inside Skyhold and begin their daily routine.  A kitchen maid came down the kitchen stairs carrying a slop bucket. She paused on the bottom step and raised her face with a smile.  A soldier hurried off to the jacks, and Master Dennet emerged from the stables with a stretch.  
  
The banners sagged without a mountain breeze, and the sun shone brightly even though it sat just above the horizon.  The ground was a muddy mess from the thaw, but bluebirds were out, and the sky was clear.  The birdsong woke Evelyn just before dawn.  It was the first time she had heard them here in the mountains. 

She'd washed her face and neck from the basin and smoothed her hair in a few swipes of her new dragon bone comb.  The comb was frivolous, but it was one of the few items she had made with the materials the Inquisition had gathered from the dragon in Crestwood.  She had decided to save the rest for bigger items, such as armour and weapons.  The beast’s skull now hung securely from the rafters of the hall much to Dorian’s dismay. 

Evelyn changed from her tan pajamas into her comfortable leathers and the soft, cropped nugskin jacket Josephine had made for her after Evelyn had refused to wear the scratchy red dress uniform while at Skyhold.  She'd decided to say hello to the sun from the ramparts.  It felt like weeks since she had felt its warmth on her skin. 

Evelyn turned her head as Cullen’s tower door opened.  She smiled at the commander in greeting.

“You’re up early,” he said with a sleepy smile.

“Birds woke me.”

Cullen stood next to her.  “Shall I banish them from the keep for you?  We need the Inquisitor well rested.”

Evelyn looked at him and laughed.  “No, they’re lovely.  I did not realize how much I missed their song until I heard them.”

Cullen smiled at her.  “It promises to be a beautiful day.” 

“Indeed.”  She closed her eyes and mimicked the kitchen maid.  She lifted her face to the sun.  “If only it was always like this here,” she said.  She took in a deep breath through her nose.  She was high enough up on the battlements that the stench of horse, dog, and unwashed soldiers did not reach her.  She sighed contentedly.

Evelyn heard the rustle of Cullen’s cloak.  Something brushed her cheek.  “Evelyn,” said Cullen.  His voice was close.

“Mmm?”  Perhaps she would shirk her duties today and go for a ride.  Her horse, Wicked Grace, had not been out since they returned from Crestwood.

“You are so-“

A call from the barbican interrupted him.

“Men sighted!” came the hoarse shout.  A horn sounded.

Evelyn’s eyes flew open.  Cullen pulled back quickly and looked out over to the road.

A horn called out from below in response.  Evelyn grinned.

“Maxwell and Henry!” she cried.  She turned around and leaned over the battlement to get a better look.

Cullen squinted at the tiny figures in the distance.  “How can you tell?  I cannot make out their banners.”

“That’s our hunting call!  Come on!”  Evelyn ran down the length of the ramparts and flung open a tower door.

She raced to the barbican and grinned at the solider on duty.  She pulled the great horn from his grasp and let out three syncopated blasts.

A short moment later and the distant horn sounded a familiar reply.  Evelyn shoved the horn back into the soldier’s hands and grinned at him.  Cullen entered the tower.  Evelyn threw her arms around him and squeezed.  Surprised, the commander stood stiffly with his arms at his side.

Evelyn let him go and hopped from foot to foot.  “Finally!  They’re finally here!” 

She let out a little squeal and clapped.  She hurried down the stairs taking two at a time, nearly running into Blackwall at the bottom.  His hair was in disarray and a small piece of straw stuck out from his beard.  He was bare chested and had clearly just been roused from bed.  He looked at her and then up at Cullen who was making his way down to the lower bailey at a much more safe pace.  Blackwall narrowed his eyes.

“Are we under attack?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“My brothers!” she said with a grin.  She spotted the kitchen maid with her bucket now empty.  She waved her over.  “Tell the cook we have guests.  A company of men from my father.  And a nice hot breakfast for my brothers and I in my quarters. Make sure there’s ale.  I’m sure Maxwell would appreciate it.” 

Cullen reached the bottom of the stairs and stood next to Evelyn.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said the maid.  The girl’s gaze lingered on the visible V leading down from the warden’s abdominals into his unbelted leather trousers, which hung low on his hips.  Cullen coughed and the girl curtsied again and hurried off with her orders.  The cook was already standing in the doorway.  She was craning her neck to see what the commotion was all about.

“It appears you have an admirer,” Cullen said to Blackwall.

Blackwall grunted.  “I’ve had my share of them,” he said.

Cullen’s jaw clenched.

“But I think that one would prefer a ride with Bull.”  Blackwall shrugged.  “Well, now that I know Corypheus hasn’t sent his armies down on us again, I’ll go make myself presentable.  We have visiting nobility on the way, after all.”  Blackwall looked at Evelyn who had already moved on toward the portcullis.  She was shouting for the guards to open the gates.  He brought his gaze back to the commander.  He kept his voice neutral.  “I’ve got quite the view from the loft, but I’m not quite high enough to see over the battlements.”

Cullen smiled.  “I can see quite well from my tower.”

“Is that so?  You must have been distracted, because it wasn’t you who sounded the alarm.”

“Distraction,” Cullen responded with a slight chuckle, “does, at times, occur.  Excuse me.  I should get the men in parade dress.”

Blackwall watched the commander stride off toward the barracks with a glower.  When the commander had vanished from view, Blackwall looked over at Evelyn, who now paced the gate in excitement.  The corners of his mouth quirked upward.  He started to move toward her, but stopped himself after a couple of steps.  He shook his head slowly and turned back toward his cot in the barn.

**~*~**

Evelyn stood at the top of the steps leading down to the lower courtyard.  Two rows of Inquisition soldiers spanned the way from the gate to the staircase.  She could hear the clatter of horse hooves on the bridge outside the curtain wall.  She fidgeted in the red and gold coat for the hundredth time.  Josephine hissed at her.  Evelyn made a face.  They were her brothers.  They would not care how she was dressed.

“Yes, but your father’s men will.  They’ve been sent here to follow our orders.  They need to see our strength.  You need to be a figure of authority,” Josephine had said as she rose from behind her desk. 

Evelyn marveled at how the ambassador could already be dressed with not a hair out of place.  What time did the woman wake every day?

Evelyn laughed.  “Josephine, I bet I know almost all of the men my father sent.  He would have sent a good mix of veterans, if I know him.  Most of them would have seen me as a girl running shoeless through the fort.”

“And you are no longer a girl.  They must recognize that.”

Evelyn eventually gave in and put the damned uniform on.  It was wool and itchy.  And now she was out sweating in the sun.  She resisted the urge to scratch her neck.  The last time she tried Josephine had swatted her hand.

The echo of the horse hooves changed to a more hollow sound.  Evelyn held her breath as she realized the leading horses were now on the wooden drawbridge.

The soldiers saluted at a command and the first horse came through the gate.  Evelyn grinned at the sight of her brother Henry.  He still wore his Templar armour.  He had recently oiled it, she noted.  It gleamed in the sunlight.  She laughed.  Henry had always been a bit vain.  Maxwell came immediately after him.  He, too, wore his Templar armour, but it did not shine as bright as his brother’s.  The two both brought their horses forward at a stately walk as their troops marched in behind them.  The brothers stopped and dismounted a few feet from the base of the stairs.  Two stablehands stepped up to take their reins and lead the horses away.

“On behalf of the Inquisition, I welco-“

Evelyn cut Josephine off with a laugh and she barreled down the stairs toward her brothers.  Josephine quickly schooled her face into a pleasant smile.

“Eve!” cried Maxwell with a grin.  As Evelyn reached him, he gathered her up into a hug and swung her around.

She laughed and pushed herself away from the crush against his breastplate.  He placed her on her feet and soon she was embracing Henry, who kept his affection limited to a couple of pats on her back.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!  How was the trip?  The crossing was not too difficult, was it?”  She motioned for them to ascend the stairs.

“Mother Hen doesn’t like the sea.” Maxwell grinned.  He had grown a beard since she had seen him last.  She was not sure it suited him.  It was sparse and scraggly. 

“It’s unnatural,” was Henry’s only response.

Evelyn laughed.  “Come!  We’ve got baths waiting.  And food.”

Evelyn waited for her brothers to be shown to their rooms so they could bathe and change by dropping by the barracks.  She really did not care what Josephine thought about this.  She refused to be some figure in the distance.  Bull was right.  It was good to spend time amongst the soldiers.  She could not know all of them, but knowing some was enough.

When she entered the barracks, a sergeant yelled out for attention.  She watched as the men and women snapped into formation.  She had been right.  She recognized quite a few faces.   To her delight, Ser Broening, her father’s long-time captain, was among them.

“Ser Broening!” she exclaimed as she took his forearm in greeting and clapped him on the opposite shoulder.  “It is good to see you.  I never thought father would let you go.”

The man grinned.  “Nothing but the best for my lord’s daughter.  You know these soldiers.  Seasoned, all of them.  We’ll put an end to this evil magister, Your Grace.”  Evelyn winced at the title.  The captain chuckled. 

“Join me at my table for dinner, Captain,” she said, acceding to his formality.

“You do me honour, Your Grace.  I would be delighted.”

Evelyn shook her head at him and smiled at the soldiers standing at attention at the foot of their bunks.  She looked down the line and squinted at the hooded man in the far corner.  “Is that-?”  She stepped closer and grinned.  “Kiall!” She shouted in surprise.  She hurried down the length of bunks to greet the old huntmaster. 

“Lady Evelyn,” he said.  His eyes crinkled and his grey whiskers twitched as Evelyn hugged him firmly.

“Oh,” she said holding him by the shoulders and giving him a good look.  “It’s wonderful to see you again.  It’s been a very long time.”

“Nigh on seven years since our last hunt,” he said.

“What are you doing here?  Surely father would not have sent you with the soldiers,” she asked.

The old man grinned.  “Ah, well, I was going to retire, but when your father said he was sending men to you, I volunteered.  There wasn’t anything in Ostwick for me anymore.”

“But what about Tirna?”  Evelyn let him go.  “I’m sure she had something to say about you heading out to some heretics in the mountains.”  Tirna had been a formidable archer in her own right and had never been afraid of telling her husband what she thought about something.

“Ah,” he said, shifting his weight.  “Tirna left us two winters ago.  The lung sickness.”

Evelyn’s face dropped.  “Oh, Kiall, I’m so sorry.  No one told me.”

“S’alright, Lady.  She would have wanted me to come.  We gotta make sure our Eve is protected and well fed, aye?”

Evelyn smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder.  “We must go hunting soon.  I’ll let the commander know that we now have a master huntsman and tracker in our midst.  He’ll find good use for you.  Just make sure you don’t bring in too much nug or you’ll find you’ve started another revolution, only this time, in our halls.”  The man’s wispy brows rose.  Evelyn laughed.  “You’ll have to talk to Varric, the dwarf in the red coat, about that one.”

She glanced down at the rest of the men and women who were still standing straight and looking ahead.

“We’ll catch up later, Kiall.  You will join us for dinner tonight?” He nodded.  “I’ll let you get settled in.  As you were.”

She nodded to Ser Broening and left the barracks.  She was pleasantly surprised to find Kiall here.  He looked a lot older than she remembered him.  His hair had been dark brown when she had left for the chantry.  Now he was all grey.  Tirna’s death must have hit him hard.  He would never have left her father’s hunting grounds otherwise.  He had cultivated them with love for his work.  Evelyn swallowed.  Poor man.  Well, if the Inquisition gave him purpose, she was more than happy to ensure he had it.  He had been her own saviour as girl and young woman.  He was the one who had taught her how to use a bow.  He had spotted her hiding in the branches of an apple tree that overlooked the practice grounds while he taught her eldest brother, Edward, the heir.  He had called her down and included her in her brother’s lessons.  It took a month before her mother caught on to why her daughter was always late for her dance instructions.  She had a fit, of course, but father had only laughed and said if his daughter wanted to shoot, then she could shoot.  He had been watching her lessons from his study window all along and saw how eager she was to learn.  Mother had her revenge by adding needle point to her education, but Evelyn soon learned that the skill could be easily translated to taking care of tack and harness, so she did not mind the endless hours of making tiny stitches by firelight.

Evelyn went up to her quarters and changed back into what she was wearing in the morning.  The official welcome was done, she could wear what she wished, Josephine be damned.  Well, until dinner, that was.  She would be expected to be formal at dinner.  She sighed and picked the uniform up from the floor and put it away neatly.  She would never hear the end of it if she entered the hall with a wrinkled coat.

Soon after she changed a few servants came up into her room and set up a small table and chairs for breakfast.  They returned with plates of food.  Evelyn’s stomach gurgled at the smell of fried sausages.  A few moments after the servants had arranged everything to their liking she heard a slight commotion at the bottom of her stairs.

“They put her up in a tower?  I was hoping for a rest when we got here, not exercise!” came Maxwell’s booming voice.

“It’ll do you good,” she shouted down.  “I noticed your armour is getting tight.”

“We must be in the right place,” Maxwell said in a stage whisper.  “I hear the shrew.”

“Ha!” Evelyn grinned as the pair emerged from behind the balustrade.  She hugged both of them again.  They, like her, had changed into more comfortable attire.

“You look well, Evelyn,” Henry said. 

She smiled at him.  “And you.”  He looked as he always did with his dark blonde hair cut short and his face shaved smooth.  He had a tiny scar near his right eye that he did not have the last time she saw him.

He noticed her looking at it.  “Didn’t move out of the way of an apostate’s blast in time.  A chink of rock hit me.”

“Ah,” Evelyn said, motioning for the men to join her at the table.  “About that. . .  While we have a lot of templars in our midst, we also accept mages into our ranks.  Some have become good friends of mine.”

“Yes,” Henry said before Maxwell could open his mouth.  “We spoke with Knight-Commander Barris before we came up.”

“And you’re fine with that?” she asked.  She sat down in a comfortably stuffed chair.

“I will get used to the idea, I’m sure,” was his response.  Evelyn winced.

Maxwell clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he took a seat.  He looked happily down at the piles of sausage, pies, preserves and cheese before him.  “Do they always feed you like this?”

Evelyn looked at the spread with a grin.  “For breakfast?  No.  I usually just grab a meat roll while I do my rounds.  And when we’re on the road, well, it’s just dry rations.  Cook put in a special effort for you.  Ale, Maxwell?”

“Yes, please!”

“There’s watered wine if you prefer, Henry,” she said as she poured ale into Maxwell’s cup.

 “Thank you.  I would like that.” He picked up the pitcher of wine himself and poured a half-glass into his goblet.  “On the road?  Surely you aren’t out fighting.”

Evelyn raised a brow.  “Of course I am.  I’ve probably killed more demons than either of you.”

“Evelyn,” Henry said.  He put his glass down and frowned at her.  “You are not trained for that.  This is not hunting in father’s woods.  Now that you have templars in your ranks I’m sure-“

Evelyn bit back a sigh.  She had forgotten how stuffy Henry could be.  In the last six years he had grown even more rigid, she thought.  “If the Templars were capable of sealing rifts, I’m sure they would.  However, they are not.  Only I am.  So I go.  And please, it may be different in Ostwick, but there is little love for templars in Orlais.”

Henry spread jam onto a piece of bread.  “Templars are here to protect-“

“Henry.” Evelyn put down her fork.  “I do not think you fully understand the situation.  Templars around here are responsible for heinous acts against the people.  They have murdered people in their homes.  They killed people on sight.  They broke from the chantry and became nothing more than villainous bandits.  Their commanders forced them to drink red lyrium and become monsters.  I received a lot of consternation and rebuke for bringing the templars to the Inquisition as allies.  I ask, brother, that you keep your views to yourself until you have properly assessed the situation. I am the Inquisitor and you are my brother. Anything you say or do will reflect back on me.”  She held up a hand when Henry opened his mouth to reply.  “I’ll also have you know, that the dragon’s head hanging over _my_ throne is due to my handiwork.  I am more than capable of going out into the field.”

Maxwell chuckled.  “Little Eve is all grown up, Henry.”  He shot a warning look at his brother.  “About this rift sealing business.  How exactly does that work?”

“I wave my hand at it, and it closes.”  She pulled off her left glove and showed them her hand.  Her palm glowed a soft green.  “It’s quiet now, but you should see it when we’re near a rift.  I light up like father’s hall during Satinalia.”  She grinned.

“Maker.” Henry pushed back his chair.

Evelyn raised a brow at him.  “It won’t harm you.  Unless I want it to, of course.”  She smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood.  This breakfast was not the happy reunion she had hoped for.

Both of her brothers stared at it for a moment.

Maxwell cleared his throat.  “Perhaps you can put that glove back on, Eve.”

Evelyn did sigh at that, but she complied.

“Your Grace!” came a breathless call from her stairs.

The three at the table all swung around to find a messenger racing to the top.

“Your Grace!” the man bowed to her.

“Please, state your message.”

The man swallowed as he caught his breath.  “A rift, Your Grace.  A rift has opened in the village of Gleithall.  Demons are everywhere.  Last report was that the people were fleeing toward caves in the mountains.  Many were slaughtered.”

Evelyn rose from her chair and moved toward the cabinet that contained her armour.  “We will go.  Please, tell Sera, Dorian and. . .” she hesitated for a brief second, “Blackwall to be ready to leave in a half glass.  And have Dennet ready the horses.  Cook should already have packs ready for this.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”  The messenger bowed again and hurried down the stairs.

“Well,” said Evelyn.  She threw open the cabinet doors and began changing.  If her brothers minded, she did not care.  “Sorry to end this meal so abruptly, but duty calls.”

Henry rose from his seat and averted his eyes.  Maxwell drained the ale from his cup.

“We’re coming with you, of course,” Maxwell said.

Evelyn glanced at him with a frown.  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I insist.  I wouldn’t mind seeing you in action.  And, I need to catch up with you.  Can’t have my little sister killing more demons than me, can I?”

Evelyn buckled her obsidian greaves onto her boots and shook her head with a chuckle.  “Fine.  But you must obey my orders.  We have a routine and I can’t have you getting in the way.”

“We’re templars, Evelyn, we know how to deal with demons,” Henry bristled.

Evelyn took in a deep breath and reached for her pauldrons.  “And we are not templars, Henry.  We are not in a Circle and this is not a Harrowing. If you are to join us, you must follow.  Understood?”

“We understand,” Maxwell said.

“Good.  Now I suggest you get ready.  When I said we leave in a half glass, I meant it.”

She watched as the two left her room and pressed her lips together in a tight line.  She had a growing suspicion that she would regret allowing them to join her.


	14. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn attends to the rift the messenger warned her about, but sorrow sends her world spinning.

“Herald, back!” Sera warned Evelyn from her spot behind the pride demon.  The elf slashed at the back of the demon’s legs while both Blackwall and Henry kept its attention.  Dorian and Maxwell were working together at keeping the shades and rage demons away from the rest of them.

Evelyn kept her hand aloft, the power of the mark flowing outward toward the rift.  She glanced behind her.  A rage demon was approaching.  She had time.  She could do this.  Henry’s words at breakfast in her quarters still rankled.  Just one more pull with her hand and the pride demon would fall.  _C’mon, c’mon_ , she muttered.  The rift was pulsating.  Her hand throbbed with power and her eyes watered from the pain.  She blinked to regain her sight.  Only a few more seconds and the day was theirs.

“Eve!” screamed Maxwell.

She felt the heat of the rage demon behind her.  It had moved faster than she anticipated.  She was knocked over, and her focus on the rift was cut.  She rolled out of the way of the incoming swing of fiery claws and brought the bladed tip of her bow up in an arc.  The demon screamed as she slashed deeply through its arm.  It howled in rage and began gathering its own power to itself.  Evelyn recognized the sign that it was about to let out a blast of fire at her.  She quickly got up to her feet and began to fade.  Then Maxwell knocked her to the side and he took the demon’s attack square in the chest.  Dorian froze the demon in ice, and Evelyn, still laying on her side, took that moment to give her attention back to the rift.  The rift burst and the pride demon fell to its knees.  Everyone focused on it and in moments it crashed onto its front with a ground shaking thud.

Evelyn crawled over to Maxwell who writhed on the ground, emitting a high pitched keen.  She touched his arm and hissed at the heat of his armour.  His face was red and his mouth was contorted.  His eyes were squeezed shut as he flailed on his back.  Evelyn’s eyes widened in horror.  He was cooking in his armour.

“Dorian!” she screamed.  “Ice!”

It must have only been a second before the mage realized what she meant and took action, but to Evelyn it seemed an eternity.  Maxwell’s shrill cries permeated her skull.

“Maxwell!” yelled Henry as he realized what was going on.  He raced toward his siblings.  Sera glanced their way, but was still shooting at shades.  The rift was not yet closed.

“Evelyn!” Blackwall called to her. He was in close quarters with a terror, his sword arm held by one of its taloned hands.  He smashed it with his shield.  The demon fell back and shook its head in a daze. “The rift!”

Evelyn ripped her attention away from Maxwell just as Henry reached them.  She knelt and held her hand up.  Green power flashed and flung itself hungrily at the rift and she pulled at it with everything she had.  The rift expanded and then contracted with a resounding blast.  Evelyn fell to her hands and panted.

“Maxwell, oh Maxwell, answer me,” Henry keened.  He rocked his brother’s head in his lap.

“Henry, let him go,” Evelyn said.  She got up to her feet.

Henry glared at her.  “Do you not care?”

“You’re hurting him.  Let him lay still!”

“He was trying to save you!”  Henry screamed at her.

“Let him go!”  Evelyn grabbed at her panic stricken brother.  He shrugged her off, and she grabbed at his other arm.

Dorian crouched next to Maxwell who had mercifully passed out.

Henry growled as Evelyn fought to pull him away.  “Get away from him, Tevinter scum.”

“He needs medical attention.  I’m just trying to help,” Dorian said levelly.

“Blackwall!” cried Evelyn as she wrestled her brother.  He was stronger than her, and heavy in his full plate armour.

The warden raced over to them and grabbed Henry’s other arm.  Between the two of them they pulled Henry a few yards away from Maxwell.

“Easy, man,” Blackwall said to him.  “Dorian can help him.  You’re not doing him any good by fighting us.  Remember your training.”

Henry glared up at him, but finally nodded his consent.  Evelyn sighed and let go of him.

“’Ey!” said Sera as she pulled an arrow out of a dead terror, “I’m gonna go up that path.  Think it leads to the caves.  Maybe they have a healer, yeah?”

“Good idea,” Blackwall said.  He looked at Evelyn.  Her eyes were blank.  She simply stared at Maxwell.  He squeezed her shoulder, but she did not respond.  “I’ll go with you.”  He gave her another squeeze before he followed Sera into the trees.

“Evelyn,” Dorian glanced up at her, “help me get him out of his armour, will you?  He’s severely burned and needs to be treated immediately.”

Evelyn crawled over and began unbuckling Maxwell’s pauldrons while Dorian did the same on the other side.  He had already removed Maxwell’s helmet.  Evelyn stared at the blistered skin.  He had steamed inside the iron.  She could smell his cooked flesh.  She gagged.

“Henry,” Dorian said without looking up.  “How many restorative potions do you have?”

There was a pause.  “Three.”

“Could you give a hand and feed them to Maxwell?  Slowly.  We don’t want him to choke.”

Evelyn carefully pulled the pauldron off of Maxwell’s shoulder and tossed it aside.  She moved on to the side buckles of his chest plate as Henry knelt at his brother’s head.

“Maker,” whispered Evelyn as she felt a blister pop beneath her fingers.

“You dare pray to Him?  After you turned your back?” snarled Henry as he unstopped a vial.

Evelyn frowned.  “I did not turn my back on Him,” she said. Her fingers stumbled on the buckle she was working on.

“If you had heeded that elf’s warning this would never have happened, Evelyn.  His life is on your head.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Dorian snapped.  “We have other concerns right now.”

Evelyn swallowed back a sob.  The vehemence in Henry’s voice hit her straight in the gut.  She squeezed her eyes in an effort to clear them of tears.

Henry shook his head.  “You’re just playing, aren’t you, Eve?  Just like at everything else.  You never take anything seriously, you never have.  You’ve never stepped up and assumed your duties.  And look at what it has cost you.  Me!”

“Make way!” came a woman’s call.

Evelyn looked up to see a grey haired woman with a leather satchel thrown over her shoulder running their way.  Blackwall, Sera and a gaggle of farmers and peasants followed behind.

“I’m the village healer,” the woman said as she approached.  She pushed Evelyn out of the way and knelt down next to Maxwell.  She took one look at the Templar and hissed.  “Lillian, Brand!  I’ll need your help.”  She looked hard at Dorian, Henry and Evelyn.  “We’ll take over from here.”

“I’m a mage,” Dorian said.  “I can help.”

The woman glanced at Dorian and then nodded.  “Fine then.  You,” she said with a nod to Henry.  “Out of the way.”

“C’mon, brother,” Evelyn said.  She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Get your hands off of me, whore,” he said with a jerk of his shoulder. 

Evelyn pulled her arm away from him and spun on her heel.

“Evelyn!” called Blackwall.

She ignored him and quickly walked into the forest away from everyone.

Maxwell was going to die.   All because she had been careless.  She had gotten so caught up in proving to her brothers at how capable she was and-

She fell to her knees and leaned her forehead on the mossy ground.  _My fault.  It’s my fault.  It’s all of my fault_.  She had lost focus.  She had forgotten her role.  Her duty to everyone.  All because of pride and sibling rivalry.  _My fault.  My fault.  My fault._

“Evelyn?” 

She heard Blackwall approach.

“Leave me,” she whispered.

Blackwall paused.  “Evelyn, I-“

Evelyn sat up on her heels and glared at him.  “Leave me!” she cried.

Blackwall watched her for a moment and then turned around and went back the way he came.

Evelyn sobbed and slammed her fist against the ground.  She had let herself be distracted from what she was here to do.  She clenched her jaw and ground her molars against each other.  Blackwall had been right.  Henry was right.  Her life was not her own.  She was a Trevelyan.  She was the Inquisitor; the Herald of Andraste.  Evelyn, Evelyn the woman and hunter no longer existed.   She could not exist.  She could not afford to let herself be distracted again.  People died under her command.  They died and lived because of her actions.

“Maker, have mercy,” she whispered in prayer for both her fallen brother and herself.  She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath through her nose.

There were villagers to attend to.  They would expect her to guide them.  Evelyn wiped her face and nose on her sleeve and stood.

 _Steel yourself, Evelyn.  You have your duty._   _You must stop playing.  Assume your role._

Evelyn took another breath and marched back to the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! Finals are in a week and I've had a load of projects due. I'm still planning on keeping this story going, though.


	15. The Western Approach

Evelyn dropped the damp towel onto the floor by the tub and slipped into her fur-lined robe.  She tied the waist and padded over to her balcony.  She leaned against the rail and stared out into the mountain peaks.  The setting sun cast a burnished red glow over the rock and snow. 

A significant amount of changes had occurred in Skyhold while she had been away.  There was no more scaffolding in the lower bailey. The hall had drapery, if a bit drab. The herb garden she had requisitioned was now planted. Skyhold was beginning to feel more like a headquarters than a ruin.

Maxwell was still in Gleithall, though alive, thank the Maker.  The healer had managed to graft nug skin to him.  He was disfigured, but he was alive.  He would not be able to travel for some time yet, Josephine told her.  Henry had gone off with the Knight-Commander on some errand at the suggestion of Leliana she found out.  For that, Evelyn was grateful.  They had not spoken for nearly two months, not since Gleithall.  She was not sure if they would ever speak again.

“Herald,” came Cullen’s familiar voice from the balcony door.

She turned and gave him a tired smile.  “Commander.”  She looked back out at the sunset.

“How was the Storm Coast?” he asked.  He stood next to her and followed her gaze with his own.

“Wet,” she said with a snort.  “Though it’s now clear of rifts, as is the Hinterlands.  Actually, I think the Hinterlands is cleared of all trouble now, including a dragon.  Bull loved that.  The refugees can go back and start anew.  We should send them back with supplies and some troops to help them rebuild what the rebellion destroyed.  Has Blackwall returned with the men I sent him out with?”  She had sent Blackwall out on a long patrol with some of the men her father sent her.  It was best, she had decided, that they did not see much of each other from now on.

“That is a good idea, and no.  Not yet.” Cullen said.  They stood in silence for a few minutes before Cullen spoke again.  “Inquisitor,” he cleared his throat.  “Evelyn.  Are you-“

Evelyn sighed.  “I’m fine, Cullen.”

Cullen looked down at his hands and plucked at the cuff of his jacket.  “You’re tired.  You need rest.  Don’t set back out in the morning.  You just got back.”

Evelyn shook her head.  “No.  I go.  We need to see what’s going on at the Western Approach.  Hawke is getting antsy.  We can’t put this off any longer.”

Cullen frowned and turned to face her.  He reached out and cupped her chin gently between his forefinger and thumb. She looked up at him.  She had dark bags under her eyes.  Her usually bright and flushed skin was dull.  She looked resigned and defeated, but resolute.  Cullen brushed her left cheek with the knuckles of his other hand.  Something had happened to her beyond her brother’s injuries.  Maker knew what the woman had gone through since all of this started.  He was continually amazed at her resilience and ability to adapt to whatever was thrown her way.  She was a whirlwind.  She was unstoppable.  Seeing her like this worried him.  Cullen stared at her wishing she would allow him to help.

“Your Grace,” a servant said softly.

Evelyn looked back at the servant who had just deposited a tray of food on her table.  Cullen let his hand drop and stepped away. 

Evelyn walked back inside and nodded to the servant.  “Thank you.  That is all for tonight.  I would like breakfast brought up to my room just before sunrise.”

“Your Grace,” the girl said with a curtsey before descending the stairs.

“I’ll leave you to your dinner,” Cullen said with a slight bow.

“Nonsense,” Evelyn said as she sank into a chair.  “Cook always sends enough for two.  Join me.”  She forced a smile.  Cullen could tell she was merely being polite.

“I already ate, thank you.  There are preparations to be made if you will not be persuaded.”

Evelyn shook her head and swallowed the bite of roast druffalo she had just taken. “No, this must be done.”

Cullen watched as she drained her glass of wine and reached for the pitcher.  He bit back a sigh.  Instead, he nodded.  “Understood, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn watched the commander leave with a frown.  Her face still tingled from where he touched her.  She closed her eyes.  She could not afford to be distracted.


	16. Chess

“Why ‘ey there, Sunshine.  Joinin’ the land of the awake and walkin’, are you?  About time.  Thought you were gonna snooze away the rest of yer days and let Coryphy-tits take over the bloody world.  It’s time to get yer arse outa bed.  At least fer a little bit.  Don’t want Cassandra to get her smalls in a bunch.  You’ve already rested lots and I don’t think ya be needin' any more.  Ya just need to get yer head outa yer arse, really.  But what does the gutter elf know of that?  Nuthin’, ‘parently.”

Evelyn swallowed and opened her eyes.  She peered around for the voice and saw an elf in familiar Highever weave lounging on her loveseat.  “Sera?”

“Yeah.  Me.  Who else you expectin’?  Beardy?  Don’t know why.  You made it clear to him how you felt, sendin’ him to walk half of Thedas.  That road’s run its course.  And in case yer wonderin’, yer back at Skyhold.  You collapsed like some rich-tit fancy-skirt smellin’ the jacks for the first time.”

Evelyn stared at her for a moment before squeezing her eyes shut.  “Thanks for the pep talk.  You’re a gem.  Really.”

“I know, right?  But really, get outa bed.  People are gettin’ worried and they need t’see the Herald on her feet.  So get up.”

Evelyn sighed.  She remembered going to the Western Approach and meeting Hawke and Stroud.  There had been a battle.  Demons.  Blood magic.  Then tiredness.  She’d been so tired.  The sand was in her eyes and the sun was beating down on her neck.  She just wanted to sleep.

“I passed out?  For the entire ride back to Skyhold?  That’s. . . That’s a month of travel.”

“Oh, well, we might have drugged you.  Easiest that way.  Trust me.  You were spewin’ a lot of nonsense.  Pro’lly a lot of shite you didn’t want us t’hear.”

Evelyn frowned.  She did not want to think about what Sera was suggesting.  She threw the blankets aside and sat up.  The room spun.  She jerked her hand down onto the bed to stable herself.

“That’s bound to happen when you don’t eat any solids fer a month.  There’s some porridge on the table.  Yer not supposed to eat much.  You might puke it up.  You’ve been doing a lot of that.”

“What did I do to get you as a nursemaid?” Evelyn muttered.  She did feel a bit sick to her stomach now that Sera mentioned it.  Her mouth was dry and tasted like shit.  Her body ached and her eyes were heavy.

Sera shrugged.  “My turn to watch.  Just yer luck that ya got me to wake up to.  Coulda been Madame Fancypants.  Guess you’ll want a bath, ‘cos you stink.  You don’t use a chamber pot when yer unconscious, ya?  Glad we got healers for that, ‘cos there’s no way I’m wiping yer arse for ya.  ‘Specially since you did this to yerself like a right tit.  Oh, and yer gonna want t'give Bull a really good thank you gift.  He's the one who took care of you on the road, if you know what I mean.”  

Evelyn stared at her.  Her face got suddenly hot.  "Oh."

Sera snorted.  "Yeah."  She unfolded herself from the loveseat and pulled a small chain by Evelyn's desk.

Evelyn brightened.  “They installed the bell!”

“Yeah.”  Sera snorted.  “An’ I’m only using it ‘cos I’m tired.  _I_ didn’t sleep for a month.  Yer lucky I like you, ‘cos this is the kind of thing piss-heads have.”

Sera left as soon as a Chantry healer arrived with two servants carrying buckets of hot water.  Evelyn let herself be fed, bathed and dressed in the silk robe with fennec lining.  Too much movement sent the world reeling and she found she did not quite have the strength to walk around on her own.  She avoided the looking glass.  She knew what she would see and she was not ready to face it.  The robe she wore hung straight on her where once it landed on curves.  She could tell by the boniness of her hands that she had lost a considerable amount of weight.

“You gave us all a fright, Your Grace,” the healer said once Evelyn was seated by the fire with blankets and furs tucked around her.  “You are to stay in Skyhold for the next while.  A month, or two.  You need rest.  You’ve pushed your body past what it could take.  You’ll be on a steady diet of bland food, I’m afraid.  At least until you’ve put on a stone or two.”

Evelyn nodded.  “I understand.  Thank you.”  A month or two?  She could not afford a month, let alone two.  There was a demon army somewhere to the west!  Evelyn was too tired to swear.  Instead she put on her best complacent smile.

“You have a slew of people who want to visit, but you _must_ _not_ over do it.”

Evelyn hid a smile.  “I understand.”

The healer looked at her hard for a moment and then slowly nodded.  “Good.  And Your Grace, no more wine.”

Evelyn scowled. 

“Your humours just can’t handle the amount you’ve been consuming.  It’s half the reason you’re in this state, if I may say so, Your Grace.”

Evelyn snorted.  “Well, you said it without permission, so what’s the point of asking?”  She held out a hand and sighed.  “I understand, Sister.  Is there anything else?”

The Sister pursed her lips.  “Not at the moment, Your Grace.  I’ll send the first of your visitors up.”

Josephine was the first person to parade into her quarters.  She had Evelyn sign a few orders and reports before Evelyn’s hand began to shake so much her signature was barely legible.  Josephine frowned.

“Perhaps that is enough for this evening,” she said as she gathered the writing implements.

“I agree,” Evelyn said, leaning back in her chair.

Josephine nodded.  “It’s nice to see you awake, Your Grace.”

Evelyn smiled up at the ambassador.  “Thank you.”

“Well, I should not take up any more of your time.  There are others who are waiting to see you.”

Evelyn inwardly groaned.  She could only imagine the line of people.

Cassandra came in next with a series of admonishments and declarations of disappointment.  By the time the Seeker left Evelyn was ready to climb back into bed.  Leliana came up with Cullen next.  The two of them appraised her of the situation in the Western Approach and the preparations of the army.

“And do not worry, Inquisitor.  It will take time before we are ready to march to Adamant.  You’ll be right as rain by then,” Leliana assured her with a pat on the arm.

Cullen hovered and watched Evelyn’s every move throughout most of the conversation.  She eventually told him to sit down, because his constant movement was making her dizzy.  
  
When the pair finally rose to leave, Evelyn looked up.  “No more visitors, please,” she said.  “I need to sleep.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen said.  He paused.  “Can you make it to the bed?”

Evelyn looked over at it.  It was only ten feet away, but it seemed a mile.  “Help would be appreciated.”

He smiled down at her.  Cullen let her lean on him and he guided her toward the bed.  She was already drifting off to sleep by the time the blankets were pulled up to her chin.

**~*~**

It was a week before Evelyn felt strong enough to leave her quarters.  She attempted it alone in a moment of spite against Sister Yvette, the healer.  The woman was driving Evelyn mad.  Halfway down the stairs she admitted to herself that this was not one of the smartest decisions she had ever made.  She sat on the landing for a few minutes to catch her breath.  Bad decision or not, it was nice to finally wear clothes and have a view other than her four walls.  Granted, the staircase was not the view she had in mind and she had to tighten her belt a couple of notches.

When both her breathing and heart slowed to a more regular rate, she climbed back up to her feet, using the wall for support.  At the bottom of the stairs she paused to compose herself before she went out into the hall.  No doubt there would be a fuss at her appearance.  She wished there was a back entrance to her quarters so her comings and goings were not so public.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and pulled open the door. A hush fell over the hall.  Evelyn stepped out onto the dais and closed the door behind her.  Chairs and benches scraped as everyone hurried to their feet.  Soldiers saluted, hand over heart.  Evelyn nodded at the blurry faces and made her slow way down the center aisle amid a murmur of ‘Your Graces’ and bows and curtsies.

Evelyn kept her eyes ahead, because she was quickly learning that the movement around her still caused her head to reel.  Perhaps she had left her room too soon, though it was too late now.  She could not simply turn around and go back the way she came.  She could feel every eye in the hall on her.  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Sera was right.  The people, _her_ people, needed to see her up and about.  She needed to be seen as on the mend, whether she truly felt it or not.

When she reached the door that lead out to the garden, a guard opened it for her with a smart salute.  The healer that had been tending her was speaking to Mother Giselle not far away.  She looked up as Evelyn stepped into the garden.

“Your Grace!” she said.  She picked up the hem of her robs and hurried toward her.

Evelyn held up her hand.  “I’m fine,” she protested as the woman stopped in front of her.  “You’re making a scene,” she murmured.  “They need to see me.”

The healer pursed her lips and gave Evelyn a grudging nod.

“A walking stick would be nice,” Evelyn admitted with a wry grin.

The healer pressed her lips in a tight line.  Evelyn could see the tension in the woman’s face, particularly around the eyes, but in the end, she gave in.

“Very well, Your Grace.”  The Sister bowed her head and turned away.

Evelyn watched the woman leave, no doubt in search for a walking stick.  Evelyn looked around the garden for a quiet spot to sit, but instead, found Dorian and Cullen playing a game of chess.  She wandered over.

“Gloat all you like,” Cullen was saying as she approached.  “I’ve won this one.”

“Are you,” Dorian looked up at Cullen, “sassing me, Commander?” The mage quirked his mouth into a half smile.  “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen shook his head.  “Why do I even- Inquisitor!”  He rose from his seat to greet her.

Dorian chuckled.  “Does this mean I win?”

Cullen furrowed his brows and sat back down.  He glanced up at Evelyn.  She could not help but laugh at how torn the commander seemed.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said, crossing her arms and looking down at the board.

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory,” said Dorian, moving a knight.  “You’ll feel much better.”

Cullen grinned.  “Really?” He moved his queen.  “Because I just won,” he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, “and I feel fine.”

Dorian stared down at the board with a sour frown.  “Don’t get smug, or there will be no living with you.”  He got up and stalked out of the garden.  Evelyn smiled.

“I should return to my duties as well,” Cullen said to Evelyn after Dorian was out of ear shot.  “Unless you would care for a game?”

Evelyn sat in the chair Dorian just vacated.  “Prepare the board, Commander.”

“As a child I played this with my sister.  She would get this stuck up grin whenever she won.”  Cullen smiled.  He began moving the pieces back to their home squares.  “Which was all the time.  My brother and I practiced together for weeks.  The look on her face on the day I finally won.”  He grinned up at Evelyn, who smiled back.  “Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “I wonder if she still plays. . .”

“You have siblings?”  Evelyn asked.

“Two sisters and a brother.”

Evelyn looked at the board and made her move.  “Where are they now?”

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight.  I do not write to them as often as I should.”   He glanced at the board.  “Ah, it’s my turn.”  He moved a pawn.  “Speaking of siblings, Maxwell is on the mend.  I’ve been told he’s started walking again.  He has a long recovery ahead of him, I’m afraid.”

Evelyn swallowed.  It was good Maxwell was getting better, but she did not wish to think of it.  Not yet.  Not now while she was under the watchful eye of Skyhold.  She would write him in private.  “Thank you,” she said.  She took her turn and grinned at him.  “You’re about to relive those childhood defeats.  This game is mine.”

Cullen laughed.  “We’ll see about that.”

“What about your parents?  What do they do?”

Cullen shook his head.  “They did not survive the Blight.”

“Oh,” Evelyn made a face.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to-“

“No, it’s fine.  Really.”

They played in silence for a few turns. Evelyn was mediocre at this game.  She did not have the patience required to really master it.  She knew she was outmatched already.

“It’s nice to see you on your feet, Evelyn,” Cullen said.

“Thank you.”  She smiled back at him.  “Though, to be honest, those stairs nearly killed me.”

“And no wonder,” the healer said approaching the pair of them with a fur and a walking stick.  “Next time you wish to go on an adventure, I would appreciate it if you warned me first.”

Evelyn glanced at Cullen sheepishly.  “I promise, Sister.”

The woman huffed.  “Here’s that stick, though a strong arm might be preferable when it comes to stairs.”  She looked at Cullen from under her brows.

He laughed.  “I’ll ensure she gets back to bed safely.”

“Good.  And here, Your Grace, is something to keep you warm.  We don’t need you to catch a chill on top of it all.”

Evelyn took the blanket from the Sister before she could tuck it around her.  The last thing she wanted was the entire Inquisition watch as she was treated like a wayward child.  Cullen had the decency to hide his chuckle in his shoulder, she noted.

The healer nodded stiffly and left them.

“Well,” Evelyn said with a small laugh, “remind me to never get on her bad side again.”  She lay the fur over her lap.

“I caught a cold a few months ago, you should have heard the chiding she gave me in front of the men when I went out with them for a training march.  I don’t think I’ll ever live it down.”

“She reminds me of my old nurse.  She was right ol’ battleaxe, but fair.  Mother hated her, but she’d been Father’s nurse, so she stayed.  She was much better raising boys than girls was my mother’s thought.”

“I take it your mother did not approve of your pastimes?”

“Hunting?”  Evelyn laughed and shook her head.  “Maker, no.  I was either to land a good marriage or join the Chantry like any proper Trevelyan.”

Cullen glanced up at her.  “You did join the Chantry?”

Evelyn furrowed her brows at the hesitance in his voice.  She looked up from the board.  “I did.  Yes.”  She looked away from him and took her turn.

“And you left?”

“Yes.”  Evelyn swallowed.  She had been delirious, she knew.  Sera had said as much.  Her friends had taken turns watching her as she lay unconscious.  She wondered what he knew and what she had said as he kept vigil by her bed.  “I tried, but in the end, it was decided that the life of a Chantry Sister was not for me.”  The garden was not the place for this conversation.  “Much prefer hunting.”  She smiled.  “Did I ever tell you about the time I killed a Wyvern?  Single-handedly.”

Cullen arched a brow.  “Alone?”

“Completely alone.  I had gone off to clear my head.  Well, hide from Mother, more like.  She’d been intent on throwing me at Bann Waldron’s son, Geoffrey.  Ugh.”  Evelyn shook her head at the memory.  “He had acne like you wouldn’t believe.  And his hair was a pile of greasy knots.  I know, what’s inside a person is what counts, and all that, but to be quite frank, I don’t think there was much going on inside that boy’s head aside from how much cake to eat for dessert.  Though, he was to inherit a large amount of land.  And there was a gold mine in their lands.”

Cullen laughed.  “And how old were you?”

“Oh,” Evelyn made a face. “Seventeen?  I was an idiot.  I went off alone, with only a bow and the quilt from my bed.  I wandered out for a full day and slept in a tree.  Oh, it was awful.  It rained and the quilt got soggy.  Ruined it completely.  My grandmother made that quilt.  That might have been the longest night of my life.”  She chuckled.  “Any way, I finally managed to doze off, somehow, because I woke up to a wyvern head-butting the tree I was in.”

Cullen looked up from the board with a grin.  “Head-butting?”

“No, really.  He was.  I managed to shoot him a few times before he spat his venom at me.  Got me in the foot.  Really!” she laughed at the incredulous look on his face.  “I’ve got the scar to prove it.  I’ll show you later.  Don’t really want to take my boots off here.”  She glanced over her shoulder before winking at Cullen.  “I might catch a chill.”

Cullen shook his head, his eyes crinkled in good humour.  “And you killed it?”

“Yeah.  Sheer luck, really.  I got it in the eye.  The arrow embedded itself into its brain.  Father’s soldiers found me a glass later.  That wyvern’s head was my first real trophy.  It’s in Father’s study, hanging above the door.  It was originally hung in the hall, until Mother made him move it.”

“That explains the dragon head,” Cullen said with a laugh.  “He was proud of you.”  He moved a rook.

Evelyn smiled at Cullen.  Their eyes met.  “I believe he was.  I was never properly punished for that stunt.  Bann Waldron and his son left the next day.  Visiting suitors came far less often after that.”

“I don’t see why,” Cullen said.

Evelyn laughed and broke their eye contact.  “I think Father had a lot to do with it.  He knew I wasn’t interested. Not unless the suitor enjoyed hunting and roughing it as much as I did.  And most of the young men my mother approved of were not the roughing it sort.”

Cullen shifted in his seat.  “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition or related matters.”  He rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward.  “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

That word.  Her stomach somersaulted.  She took her turn.  She had to admit that it was lonely up in her quarters alone all day.  And she was under the healer’s orders to rest and recuperate.  What harm could the occasional game of chess do?  She smiled at him.  “We should spend more time together.”

Cullen looked up sharply.  A slow smile spread onto his face.  “I would like that.”

Evelyn smiled back.  “Me too.” Josephine could no doubt get a chessboard up to her quarters.  This could not be the only one the Inquisition had.

“You said that. . .” Cullen kept her gaze before he gave himself a shake and brought his attention back to the board.  “We should,” he shifted his weight, “finish our game, right?  My turn?” 

Evelyn grinned and motioned for him to go.

“Well,” he said leaning back in his chair.  “I believe the game is mine.”

Evelyn looked at the pleased smirk Cullen wore with surprise.  “Wait.  What?”  She looked at her pieces.

Cullen chuckled and crossed his arms.  “Dorian cheats at this as well.”

Evelyn flushed.  “Sorry.  I’m not very good at this game.”

“Well, there’s definitely opportunities for improvement.”

Evelyn laughed at that.  This time it came from her gut.  She giggled.  “Still the diplomat, I see.”

Cullen shook his head with a matching grin.  “No.  Still leaving that to Josephine.  Now, Inquisitor, I promised the good Sister over there that I would make sure you got back to your quarters in one piece.  She’s been watching us like a bird of prey the entire time and I think she’s ready to strike.”

“Fine!  Fine!” she laughed and held her arm out.  Cullen rose and helped her up onto her feet.  He folded the fur over one arm and held his other out for Evelyn to grasp.  Evelyn took hold of it gratefully.  Truth be told this whole venture had been a bit much.  She needed a nap.  “I concede defeat, commander.  I retreat.  And I can show you that scar.”


	17. Persevere

The fire cast dancing shadows throughout Evelyn’s quarters.  She sat by it in an overstuffed chair with her feet crossed on an embroidered footrest.  A quilt had been tucked firmly around her legs, and she sipped on a large mug of elfroot and spindleweed tea.  She had added an extra dollop of honey to it after Sister Yvette left for the night.  Evelyn did not blame Solas for detesting the stuff.  The chessboard Josephine had produced on cue sat on a table at Evelyn’s elbow.  It was a small wooden set, but what it lacked in size, it all but made up for in ornamentation.  It was carved all along the edges.  Intricate vines wove their way around it, with fauna peeking through the leaves.  Her favourite creature was the antlered buck near the white queen.

She glanced out the window.  The sun had set behind the frosted mountain peaks. 

He was late.

She and Cullen had created a habit of playing a game after dinner.  He always won, but she was getting better.  She was confident that she would win some time in the next few days.  She intended to savour the upcoming victory.  Evelyn smiled into her mug.

The last couple of weeks had been long.  She was done with sleeping, but her body was still incredibly weak.  She had her mobility work in the practice ring and her morning stroll in the garden, but Sister Yvette kept Evelyn stowed away in her tower quarters for most of the time.  She was eating solid food now, much to her delight.  She had gained weight already.  Soon she would be able to let her belt go a notch again.

Evelyn looked at the chessboard and sighed.  She had come to enjoy Cullen’s visits.  They spent most of their time sharing childhood adventures and adolescent shenanigans.  He made her laugh.  It felt good to laugh.  There had been so little of it in the last few months. 

Where was he?

She set her mug on the table next to the chessboard and untangled herself from the quilt.  She grabbed the ever present walking stick and rose to her feet.  She would find him.

The hall was quiet at this hour.  A few souls lingered over a flagon of ale at the trestle tables and a small game of wicked grace was going on in the far corner.  New drapery had been hung from the rafters.  Now the ever watchful Inquisition eye looked down upon the diners.  Evelyn was not sure she liked them, but Josephine seemed to think they were appropriate, so she let them stay.  Josephine had let her keep the dragon skull over the throne, after all.  Evelyn felt that compromise was the wisest course when it came to their esteemed ambassador.

She was saluted and she nodded in return.  She entered the rotunda.  Solas glanced up from his book and raised a brow.  She smiled at him.  The elf had grown on her.  He was strange, and she was pretty sure he was not telling them everything, but he was amiable enough.   And knowledgeable.  She enjoyed his stories of the fade, even if they terrified her. 

“Just passing through,” she said.

He nodded and went back to his reading. 

When she reached Cullen’s office, he was not there.  A soldier stood by his desk.

“Inquisitor?” the soldier said at her approach.  Her mouth quirked at the surprise in the other woman’s voice.  “If you’re looking for the commander, he’s gone to speak to Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Right.  And where would she be?”

“The smithy tower, Your Grace.”

Evelyn nodded.  “Thank you.”  She headed that way.

She could hear their raised voices through the smithy door.

“You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it.  Why would you expect it to change?” Cassandra said.  Evelyn could hear the exasperation in the Seeker’s voice.

“I expect you to keep your word.  It’s relentless.  I can’t-“ Cullen growled back. 

Evelyn frowned, her hand pressed against the door.   What was going on?

“You give yourself too little credit,” said Cassandra.

Evelyn could almost hear Cullen’s sigh.  “If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this.  Would you rather save face than admit-“

Evelyn furrowed her brows and pushed.  Her entrance interrupted the conversation.  Cullen whipped around to see who entered.  At the sight of Evelyn leaning on her walking stick, Cullen sighed and shook his head.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly and left.  Evelyn watched him leave, confused.

“And people say I’m stubborn.  This is ridiculous.”  Cassandra crossed her arms.  Evelyn looked at her.  “Cullen told you he was no longer taking lyrium?”

Evelyn nodded.  “A while ago, yes.  It seemed very important to him.”

“It’s not a decision to be made lightly.  But now. . .” Cassandra pursed her lips.  “Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.”

Evelyn frowned.  “He seems fine to me.  He has not mentioned anything. . .”

“I refused,” Cassandra said with a wave of her hand.  “It’s not necessary.  Besides, it would destroy him.  He’s come so far.

Evelyn let out her breath in a gush.  “Well, then.”  She sat on the edge of a crate.  Her muscles cramped if she stood still for too long.  “Why didn’t he come to me?”  She felt silly the moment the question came out of her mouth.  Why would he?  She did not go to him when something troubled her.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us.  As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers.”

Evelyn nodded.  “Yes.  That makes sense.”

Cassandra looked at her a moment.  “And he wouldn’t want to. . .” she paused as she chose her word, “risk your disappointment.”

Evelyn looked up at her.  Her disappointment?  The implications of that statement troubled her.  Evelyn gave herself a mental shake.  “Is there anything we can do to change his mind?”

Cassandra shrugged.  “If anyone could, it’s you.”  Cassandra met her eyes with her own and held them.  “Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have.  They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash.

“Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself – and anyone who would follow suit – that it’s possible.  Inquisitor,” Cassandra broke eye contact for a brief moment.  “He _can_ do this.  I knew that when we met in Kirkwall.”  Cassandra looked hard at Evelyn.  “Talk to him.”

Evelyn made her way back to Cullen’s office.  A soldier on the ramparts confirmed that the commander had gone inside his tower rooms.  She opened the door and fell back as something whizzed by her.  She felt the slight breeze of its passing on her face.  Whatever it was smashed against the door.  Her cane clattered to the stone floor, and she grabbed onto the doorframe for support.

“Maker’s Breath!” cried Cullen.  “I didn’t hear you enter.  I-“  Evelyn looked up from the broken glass on the floor and at the commander.    He deflated at her look and hunched his shoulders. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

Evelyn shook her head.  That was the second time he asked for her forgiveness.  She stepped forward.

“Cullen,” she whispered back.  “If you need to talk-“

Cullen waved his hand and started to walk toward her.  “You don’t have to-“ he let out a small gasp of pain. Cullen stumbled and leaned against his desk.

Evelyn frowned and reached out for him, but he gained his footing.  Evelyn let her arms drop back to her sides.

“I never meant for this to interfere.”

Cullen was apologizing, again.  Evelyn swallowed.  “Of course, you didn’t, Cullen.  I didn’t mean for this-“ she stopped as she realized her walking stick was laying on the ground near the doorway.  She gave him a ghost of a smile.  “I didn’t mean for a lot to happen.”

Cullen looked away from her and straightened himself.  “You asked what happened to Ferelden’s Circle.  In Haven, remember?”

Evelyn nodded.

“It was taken over by abominations.  The Templars – _my friends_ – were slaughtered.”  Cullen swallowed and turned toward the arrowslit behind him.  Evelyn stayed quiet.  “I was tortured.  They tried to break my mind and I – how can you be the same person after that?”

Evelyn clenched her jaw.  That was a good question, and one she knew the answer to.  You could not.  Oh, she pretended she was the same, but she had changed.  Was still changing.  The envy demon’s attempt to take her over still haunted her dreams.  The rawness of Cullen’s voice caused her stomach to flip.  It brought back memories she rather stayed in the recesses of her mind.

“Still,” he said after regaining some composure.  “I wanted to serve.  They sent me to Kirkwall.”  Cullen snorted.  “I trusted my knight-commander, and for what, hmm?”  Evelyn watched as disgust and self-loathing washed over Cullen’s face.  “Her fear of mages ended in madness.  Kirkwall’s circle fell.  Innocent people died in the streets.  Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

She knew he was mostly talking to himself at this point, particularly with that last question, but it nearly made her laugh.  Of all the people to ask that, he asked _her_.  The disgraced Chantry Sister.  “Of course I can.  I-“

“Don’t.”  Cullen held up a hand.  “You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

Evelyn eyed him carefully as he circled around his desk to stand in front of her.  She put her hands on her hips.  Now the man was just being melodramatic.  This had to stop.

“I thought this would be better – that I would regain some control over my life.  But these thoughts,” Cullen pressed his fingers against his temple, “won’t leave me.”  He began to pace.  “How many lives depend on our success?  I swore myself to this cause.”  His voice got louder.  Evelyn let him vent.  Anger was better than self pity.  It was good to let it out. 

“I will _not_ ,” he spat, “give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.  I should be taking it!” He punched the outside frame of a bookcase.  A book fell from its shelf with a clatter.  “I should be taking it,” he whispered.

Evelyn could not help but think of the night Blackwall found her wandering in the snow.  How he had comforted her and listened to her after her ordeal at Therinfal Redoubt.  He had listened to _her_. Evelyn.  _Her_ fears.  Not the Herald of Andraste’s fears.  Evelyn Trevelyan.  It had been nice to forget about her role and duty for that space of time.  Cullen needed her to do the same for him.

“This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition.  Is this what _you_ want?”  She approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Cullen looked at her a moment before sighing.  His body relaxed with the release of air.  Evelyn smiled encouragingly.

“No.” His voice was quieter.  “But. . . These memories have always haunted me – if they become worse, if I cannot endure this. . .”

Evelyn squeezed his shoulder.  “You can.”

They stared at each other.  Cullen nodded.  “All right.”

Evelyn grinned.  “Good.  Now, you owe me a game of chess.”

  **~*~**

They played in an awkward silence.  Cullen did not appear to be invested in the game.  Evelyn had him in check far too soon.  She sighed.  She offered him the first thing that came to mind.  An answer to a question.  It was only fair after he had just opened up to her.

“You asked me about my time as a Sister.  I evaded the question.”  She shifted in her seat.  “Well, I had to leave the Chantry,” she said quietly.

Cullen glanced up from the board to her.  She swallowed.  It seemed ten times more difficult telling him this story than Josephine.

“I was pregnant.”

Cullen did not say anything.  His mouth opened, but he shut it quickly.  Evelyn forced a smile.  “I was sent to my family’s country estate in disgrace.”

“You have a child?”  Cullen’s voice was soft.  She almost missed the question.

Evelyn made a face and bit the inside of her cheek.  “I suppose I do.  I don’t- I’ve never seen it.  They took it away.  I don’t know-“

“Evelyn.”  Cullen reached across the board and placed his hand on hers.  “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”  His reaction startled her.  It was a human reaction and she was not used to it.  For nobility such a situation was expected.  One did not get attached to a child they knew they had to give up.  That only led to despair and resentment.  It was these rare moments when she realized how messed up nobility really were.  She continued with the story.

“Well, it was decided I was to marry my cousin, Emmerson.  It was a marriage of convenience, but luckily, we were fast friends.  He was my father’s foster son.  We grew up together.  And he died.  At the Conclave.”

“Maker. . .  I did not know.” Cullen frowned.  “No one told me.  Evelyn, I-“

Evelyn sighed.  “No one told you, because. . . Well, no one needed to know.  Except Josephine, of course.  Couldn’t have anyone try to use the whole thing against the Inquisition.  And she probably told Leliana.  Oh, and Dorian.  Got drunk and told him once.”  Evelyn chuckled.  “I’m not very good at the whole feelings thing.  So, I just don’t talk about it.”  She looked away from the commander and twirled the black queen by the crown.  “I wish I could have attended his memorial service, though.  That would have been nice.  To be able to say goodbye.”

Cullen leaned forward.   “The memorial at Haven will be opened soon.  Would you like to attend the opening ceremonies?”

Evelyn stared.  Her face got hot and the pressure behind her eyes came so quickly she did not have time to force the tears back.  “Yes.  Yes, I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's holidays were wonderful!


	18. Haven Memorial

Sister Yvette was not happy about Evelyn ‘trekking through the mountains and catching her death’. Amid a flurry of half-veiled insults and reprimands Evelyn found herself huddled in the back of a wagon, her body jerking with every lurch.  Sister Yvette did not join them to Haven, but she sent a lay-sister in her stead.  The poor girl looked just as miserable as Evelyn felt.

“This is ridiculous,” Evelyn muttered.                                                                                                                                     

The lay-sister stirred and looked at her warily.

“Driver!” Evelyn called out. 

The soldier twisted in his seat to look back at her.  “Inquisitor?”

“Call for Wicked Grace.  I’m riding.”  Evelyn threw off the fur from her legs.

“Your Grace,” the lay-sister said.  “Sister Yvette-“

“Sister Yvette be damned.”  The driver stopped the horses and Evelyn took that moment to hop over the side of the wagon and to the ground.  She ignored the girl’s cringe.  “I’m riding.  I’m the Inquisitor and I should be at the head, not back here with the supplies.”

“Inquisitor?” came a sergeant from behind her wagon.  Now all of the supply wagons were stopped, while the soldiers continued to march forward ahead of them.  A few were glancing back at her.  She could see the ripple of heads as the news of her stopping moved up along the line to someone in charge.  “Is there anything wrong?”

“Absoloutely nothing.  I’d like to ride Wicked Grace.”

“Inquisitor.”  He saluted.

It took nearly a quarter glass to get Wicked Grace saddled.  They had to dig her gear out of the back of one of the wagons.  By the time she was ready to mount Cullen was riding toward her, followed by three officers.

“Commander!” She flashed him a grin as she placed her left leg in a stirrup.  “Sorry to worry you.  Nothing going on here.  Just tired of being a sack of potatoes.”

Cullen watched as she swung her right leg over the back of the broad horse and landed in the saddle lightly.  Her actions did not surprise him.  If anything, he had expected her to do this a lot sooner.  She had thrown herself into getting her body back into shape immediately after he had asked her if she wanted to go to the Haven Memorial opening ceremonies.  He had watched her sometimes from the ramparts, as had all of the Inquisition.  She was still all angles and bones where once she had been muscles and curves, but her energy was back.  It was good to see her without the cane.  He had blamed himself for her illness.  If he had stayed with her for dinner like she had asked, maybe he could have convinced her to stay and rest.  She would not have nearly run herself into a grave.  But here she was, energetic, with a flush to her cheeks.  He smiled back at her.

“Coincidence, Inquisitor.  I came to tell you that we were approaching Gleithall.  I was wondering if you wanted to camp outside the village tonight.”

Wicked Grace pranced, happy that his proper rider was back.  Evelyn used his enthusiasm as an excuse from replying immediately.  She sat hard in the saddle.  Wicked Grace whinnied and stamped a front hoof into the dirt.  Evelyn patted his neck.  “Good boy,” she whispered.  Wicked Grace snorted.

Gleithall.  Maxwell.  She took in a deep breath and patted the horse again.  She was terrified of seeing him.  What if he rejected her like Henry did?  And his disfigurement. . .  To know that she had been the cause of it cut into her gut like a newly sharpened blade.  Wicked Grace was sensing her mood.  He snorted again and took a couple of steps forward, then back.  Evelyn swallowed.

“Yes.  That’s a good idea, Commander,” she heard herself say.  She gathered the reigns and set Wicked Grace at a smart walk.  Cullen caught up and rode next to her.  One of the soldiers sounded their trumpet, and soon the news of the Inquisitor coming up the ranks was known throughout the column.

Soldiers saluted as she passed.  She nodded in return.

“They’re happy to see you up and about, Inquisitor,” Cullen said quietly as they rode.

“I’m sure they are,” Evelyn smiled at him.  She looked ahead and focused her attention on the space between Wicked Grace’s ears.  She could still smell the stench of Maxwell’s steamed and seared flesh.  His high pitched screams and squeals as he was cooked alive in his armour were often heard in her dreams.  She clenched her jaw.

Cullen glanced at her and kept silent for the rest of the way up the column. 

“He’ll be happy to see you,” he said when they reached the head.  The officers kept a respectful distance from them.

Evelyn looked at him sharply.  “You think?  Henry certainly does not want to see me.”

Cullen pressed his lips together at the mention of Henry.  “Maxwell is not Henry.”

“And when have you become so acquainted with my brothers, Commander?”  Evelyn arched a brow.

Cullen flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I uh- Maxwell and I have been writing.  I first wrote to him when you were ill.”

Evelyn eyed the commander and nodded.  “Of course.”

Cullen kept quiet.  Evelyn was nobility, and she schooled her features well, but he had known her long enough that he knew when she was anxious.  He knew she blamed herself for Maxwell.  She had moaned about it repeatedly when unconscious.  It was not her fault.  They had been in battle.  Bad things happen in battle, but she had to come to terms with it herself.  Hearing it from him would not help her.  From Maxwell on the other hand. . .

When they had reached the front of the column and the officers gave them a polite distance, Evelyn broke the silence.

“He wants to see me?”

“He’s eager.  He’s worried about you.”  Cullen kept eyes in front of him.

Evelyn laughed.  “About me? Maker, he’s got his priorities in a knot.”

Cullen shook his head, but declined to comment.

 

A feast awaited them in Gleithall.  Josephine had sent supplies to the rebuilding village ahead of them.  Early spring flowers were hung in garlands between the dipping rooves.  She was bedecked with a few garlands of her own.  It took nearly a half glass of welcoming speeches before she was led to the mayor’s home where her brother had been housed.  Where the mayor and his family were staying, Evelyn did not ask.

The mayor’s house was similar to most mayor’s homes in Thedas.  It was a round structure made of a stone foundation and wooden walls.  A partition separated the sleeping area from the living area.  She stepped into the hut and blinked in the dim lighting.  It took her a moment to recognize the shape of her brother seated in a chair near by the fire.  A screen had been erected between him and the fireplace.

“Maxwell?”

Her brother looked up from his book and set it down on the table at his elbow.  He smiled up at her and rose stiffly to his feet.  “Eve!  I thought that racket outside meant you had come.”

Evelyn glanced at his face, but did not want to stare, so she focused just above his head.  In her quick glance she saw shiny scar tissue and stitches.   She held her arms out to hug him, but then stopped.  “Oh.  I don’t want to-“

Maxwell grinned.  “I can handle a hug.”

Evelyn took in a deep breath through her nose and then wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck in a close hug.  He returned it with a squeeze.

“It’s alright,” he whispered.  “You can look at me.  Stare all you want now so we can get it out of the way.”

“Oh.”  Evelyn pulled back and frowned at him.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t want- I didn’t think I-“

Maxwell chuckled and let go of her.  “It’s to be expected, Eve.”

Evelyn licked her lips and took a clear look at him.   The entire right side of his face and his forehead were scarred and pocked, though not as badly as Evelyn expected.  She had half expected him to look something like Corypheus without the red lyrium.  He was still Maxwell, though he would never be considered truly handsome.  His lower lip was stretched a bit.  She reached out and ran her finger along a line where the edge of his helmet had seared him.  She could almost smell the rage demon.

“I’m so sorry, Maxwell.”

Maxwell took her hand and looked her in the eye.  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

Evelyn said nothing.

“So, a memorial in Haven?”  Maxwell said to break the silence.  His right leg lacked the mobility his left leg had.  His walk was more of a hobble, but Evelyn could see no cane.  He motioned her toward a chair and began pouring her a glass of wine.

“Oh, water, please,” she said.

Maxwell arched a brow.

Evelyn made a face.  “Healer’s orders.”

“Ah.  Water it is, then.”

“Yes.  I wanted to go,” she said.  She took the offered cup of water.

Maxwell settled himself in the opposite chair and took a sip of his wine.  “Not just politics, then?”

“No.”  Evelyn stared at the shadows the fire gave against the screen.  “I. . .  I never got to say goodbye to Emmerson.  Couldn’t go to his memorial service, so-“

“Say no more.  I understand.”

Evelyn nodded at her cup.  “Yeah.  So going to Haven.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Evelyn looked up at him.  “You’re safe to travel?”

“I’m well enough.  I’m ready.  They mean well here, but I’m a strain on their resources.  They lost almost everything in the demon attack.  Your Inquisition has helped considerably, but they’re still short of a lot of things.”

**~*~**

They left Gleithall at first light.  Their ranks swelled as pilgrims began meeting with them on the road to Haven.  Thousands flocked to Haven for the service.  Evelyn gave a short speech Josephine had prepared for her, which was followed by many long speeches by several nobles.  There had been a lot of singing and praying after that, and then a dinner.  None of it felt like it had anything to do with Emmerson.  Evelyn was too busy playing the roles of Inquisitor and Herald to think about him during the service.  And ever since Therinfal Redoubt, praying had lost all sense of comfort.

Evelyn excused herself from the revelries as soon as she could and went to her tent to put on her warmest clothes and cloak.  When she emerged, fully armed, she found Cullen waiting for her. 

“No one should wander off on their own.  They’re predicting snow squalls,” he said.

He too had changed into armour.  Evelyn nodded.  “They said there’s a new track that leads to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Cullen confirmed that with a nod of his own.  “You’ll need these.”  He passed her a pair of snowshoes and a camping kit. 

The crunch of the snow beneath their feet was the only sound as they made their way along the narrow track.  It took near to an hour of trudging against the wind to get there.  Evelyn’s ears ached.  Snow blew in circles around them.  Visibility was not yet an issue, but when the sun went down they would have a hard time seeing anything, particularly with the wind picking up.

A small hut had been built at the edge of the ruin, she could see light flickering through the window.  A face peered out at them and then a soldier quickly came outside toward them. 

“This isn’t the time to be visiting!” he yelled at them.  “You should be down at the memorial.”

Evelyn suppressed a grin at Cullen’s grunt. 

“The Inquisitor wished to visit the Temple, soldier.  Would you like to tell her she cannot?”

“You’re cruel,” she whispered.  Cullen chuckled softly.

“Commander!  Your Grace!”  The soldier said in shock.  He quickly saluted them.  Another soldier came running out of the hut to stand next to the other one.

Cullen nodded at them.  “Set up camp.”  He shrugged out of his kit and handed it over to the first soldier.  He glanced at Evelyn who did the same.  “Have a fire ready.  Don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Yes, sir.  Your Grace.”

Evelyn grabbed a thick walking stick from against the hut wall on her way down the path.  Cullen followed suit.

“The snow is deep here,” she warned as they trudged downward.

“That would be your handiwork,” Cullen said from behind her.

She chuckled.  “You seemed to be approving of the plan at the time.”

Cullen sighed.  “Not quite, but we did not have many options to choose from, did we?  We almost lost you.”

“Yes, well.  I survived.  Resurrected from the dead, apparently.”

“If we leave it to Varric, it _will_ become the official story.”

“Varric?”  Evelyn snorted.  She pulled her scarf up over her mouth.  The snow was blowing harder now.  “Mother Giselle did nothing to stop the rumours.  Honestly, I think half of the crap going around about me is from her.”

They stopped at a ridge, which must have been a wall or ledge at some point, because the ground dropped in front of them.  Remnants of stone walls poked up from mounds of snow.  Evelyn stared out at the ruins.

“It looks peaceful now, doesn’t it?” she said.

Cullen nodded, but said nothing.  He stopped beside her and followed her line of sight.

“All those lives.  Lost.”  Evelyn squinted out.  “I thought coming here would mean something.  That I could say goodbye, but. . .  I don’t feel anything.  Seeing it- He’s still gone.  Cullen.  What am I supposed to be feeling?”

Cullen cleared his throat.  “I don’t know.  I never attended my parent’s service.  I was in Kirkwall by then.  The pain. . .” He rubbed the back of his neck.   “It fades over time.”

“Is it bad that I think more about fighting that pride demon here than Emmerson?”

Cullen glanced at her and shook his head.  “No.  You probably don’t associate him with the Temple.”

Evelyn looked at Cullen and nodded slowly.  “That’s probably it.  Maybe I need to go out on a hunting trip.  That was more our style.”

“That,” Cullen said with a smile, “sounds like a good idea.  But please, not now.  It’ll be dark shortly and we still have to hike back to camp.”

Evelyn eyed him with a grin.  “You’re no fun.  Besides, hunting at night shows how good of a tracker you are.  Knowing what a creature’s eyes look like in the moonlight.”  She wagged her eyelashes at him.

Cullen arched a brow.  “I’m sure it does, but there’s not going to be much moonlight with that cloud coverage.  C’mon, Inquisitor.  We should get back.”

“That pride demon was terrifying.”

At that Cullen barked a laugh.  “I bet.”

“No, I almost died.  Varric saved me.”

“Did he?” Cullen looked at her closely.

She nodded.  “Yeah.  I fell and. . .”  Her heart rate started to rise from the memory.  She gave herself a shake.  ”Well, I narrowly missed death, let’s leave it at that.”  She gave the ruined temple one last look.

 _Goodbye_. 

The whistle of the wind through stone was the only reply.

She turned around and smiled at Cullen.  “To camp?”

**~*~**

Kiall, much to Evelyn’s delight, had been amongst the soldiers who accompanied her to Haven.  The old hunter often marched with soldiers and was responsible for keeping them fed.  He was quickly recruited to her hunting party and as such, Evelyn had little to do but wait to set out back for Skyhold with just a handful of men.  Kiall took over all of the preparations.

Cullen found her outside of her tent, perched on a travelling stool by the fire. 

“Kiall says we’ll be ready to leave tomorrow.”

Evelyn looked up and smiled.  “We?  Are you joining us?”

“Yes.  Do you mind?”

“No!  Not at all.  When was the last time you went hunting?”

Cullen chuckled.  “I don’t remember.  When I was boy?”

“Ah!  Fresh meat.  Should be fun.”

Cullen sat on one of the folding stools next to her.  “How are you feeling?”

Evelyn looked at him sideways and bit back a sarcastic retort.  She was tired of hearing that question, but it was not fair to Cullen to behave like an ass.  She sighed.  “I’m fine.  Truly.  I need to be up and about.  Hiding won’t help.”  And she had been hiding.  Hiding from everything.  “Maxwell is coming as well.  If anything, you should be worried for him.  He’s worse off than me.”

Cullen laughed.  “You’re siblings alright.  He said the same about you.”

Evelyn did roll her eyes at that.  “Of course he did.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“I know.  He’s pretty durable.  He’ll bounce back.”  She smiled at him.

“Has he told you he hasn’t had any lyrium since the accident?”

Evelyn looked at him.  “No.  No, he hasn’t.”  She let that news sink in, and everything it meant.  Maxwell was leaving the Templars?  “Well.”  She arched her brows and gave a shrug.  “He can be the one to tell Henry, and hopefully nowhere near me.”

Cullen chuckled.  “Yes.  Henry is certainly a believer.”

“Yeah.  I think he and Vivienne should spend more time together.”

“Could you imagine?”  Cullen smiled and shook his head.

Evelyn laughed.  “I’d rather not.”

“Speaking of believers, here comes your new favourite person,” Cullen said.  Evelyn looked up to find Mother Kathrynn, the cleric who performed the ceremonies, coming her way with a gaggle of sisters and brothers.  “I’ll let you get to business.”  Cullen rose.  “I’ll see you first light.”

“Oh, thanks for your support.”  She watched the approaching clerics with barely contained impatience.  Josephine should have come with them.  She would be able to keep Kathrynn and her lot from badgering her about the word of Andraste.  None of them believed her when she said Andraste talked to her no more than a tree did.  If anything, that comment just got them pestering her more.  Evelyn got the impression that Mother Kathrynn was trying to recruit her back into the fold.

Cullen grinned.  “Any time.”


	19. The Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It is a short one. I originally had this as part of the previous chapter, but my first reader (aka husband) suggested it would be better left on its own. 
> 
> Also, I really want to thank you, readers. I can't believe how many times this ~~not so~~ little fic has been viewed. It makes me feel pretty awesome.

It was a bright, clear day.  The small hunting party was stalled by an impromptu sermon from Mother Kathrynn, but they left with a decent amount of morning still ahead of them.  Evelyn was delighted to find that Kiall had brought Adelaide, the blonde farm girl she had help train to use the bow.  In addition to the bow, the girl also kept a sword at her belt.

“So she didn’t get you after all,” Evelyn said when they were out of sight of Haven.  She twisted in the saddle to look back at Adelaide.

Adelaide laughed.  “Whoever could you mean, Your Grace?”

“That means she did, didn’t she?”  Evelyn sighed.

“Yeah.  She did.”  Adelaide grinned.  “But, I’m usually posted with the troops.  Someone’s gotta keep an eye on ‘em.”

Cullen snorted.

“Kiall and I are feeling a little left out of this conversation,” said Maxwell.

“The Lady Nightengale, sir,” said Adelaide.

Maxwell and Kiall shared a look.

“The Inquisitor trained Adelaide,” Cullen supplied.

Evelyn laughed.  “Barely.  You did most of the work, Commander.  I was hardly ever around to train them.”  She waved her hand at Cullen who was shaking his head.  “It’s true, Maxwell, don’t listen to him.  And,” she wagged at finger as Cullen opened his mouth, “even if it was a sergeant or lieutenant or whatever doing it on his behalf, he was still overseeing it.”  Cullen shut his mouth.  “Leliana showed interest in Adelaide early on and wanted to recruit her for her spy network.  Cullen and I tried to keep her off so she could do scouting work with Harding, but it appears we lost.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ve lost, Inquisitor,” piped in Adelaide.  “Like I said, I still work with the troops.  The army still gives me my assignments.  I’ve worked with Scout Harding several times.   I just keep an extra ear out.  That’s all.”

“Ha!” Evelyn barked a laugh.  “It’s never ‘that’s all’ with Leliana.”

“You would have to take that up with her, Your Grace.”

Cullen shook his head.

They rode throughout the day, and by nightfall reached the forest that ranged for leagues along the base of the Frostbacks.

“Small camp,” Kiall said.  “We’ll want to go a bit further in the morrow.  That means we’re sharin’.”

Evelyn and Adelaide shared a tent, while the three men shared the other.  Evelyn was slightly jealous of her brother.  Adelaide was tall and muscular, but she was not big enough to generate the same amount of heat as two grown men.  With less meat on her bones Evelyn felt the cold more.

They broke camp and ate in the saddle.  Kiall was eager to press further into the forest where the “good game” was.  By midday they had fallen into a companionable line with Kiall in the lead, Evelyn and Cullen in the middle, while Maxwell and Adelaide made up the rear.

“I wanted to thank you,” Cullen said out of the blue.  Evelyn looked at him.  “When you came to see me. . . If there’s anything-” He scrunched his face and rubbed the back of his neck.  “This sounded much better in my head.”  He shook his head.

She smiled at him.  “I trust you’re feeling better?”  It was nice to talk about someone else’s health for a change.

“Yes.  I am.”  He smiled back.

“Is it always that bad?”  She glanced behind her at Maxwell who was currently telling Adelaide an involved story.  She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was using a lot of gestures.  Adelaide appeared amused.  She was smiling at least.

“The pain comes and goes,” Cullen said.  “Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there.”  He paused.  “I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” said Evelyn.

Cullen smiled.  “I am.”  He nodded.  “I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle.  I was. . . Not myself after that.  I was angry.”  He sighed.  “For years, that anger blinded me.  I’m not proud of the man that made me.”  He looked away.  “Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened.  It’s a start.”

Evelyn urge Wicked Grace to come in closer to Cullen’s mount.  She reached over and tapped his shoulder.  He looked at her.

“For what it’s worth, I like who you are now.”  She smiled.

“Even after. . .”

She laughed.  “Cullen, I care about you.”  And she genuinely meant it.  He was a good man and a friend.  “You’ve done nothing to change that.”

Cullen looked at her for a moment before changing the subject.  “What about you?  You have troubles of your own.  How are you holding up?”

“I’ve met good people here.”  She smiled.  “Knowing they’ve got my back. . . It helps.”

“You certainly keep interesting company.”

Evelyn grinned at him and Wicked Grace danced away, eager for his own room.  “I do, don’t I?  Mother would be appalled.”  She felt Wicked Grace’s muscles bunch.  He wanted to run.  Before she let him take off she smiled at Cullen again.  “But really. . .  Thank you.”

 


	20. Samite and Sapphires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with the trappings, but kept the content true.

They arrived in Skyhold with three deer, a string of hare and another of fennec.  The entire hunting party was in high spirits.  They experienced a small rift in the forest, but the spirits it spewed were dispatched with ease.  Other than that one quick skirmish, the excursion had been peaceful and full of laughter.  The laughter had mostly been aimed at Cullen’s poor archery skills, but the commander took the jests in good faith.

“Inquisitor!” Josephine called down from the upper bailey stairs.

Evelyn looked up.  She stifled her groan at the sight of the clipboard.  Cullen chuckled from beside her as he passed his reigns to a stablehand.  Evelyn waved up to Josephine and then held up five fingers.  The ambassador nodded and went back, presumably, to her office.

“A game?  After dinner?” Cullen said.

Evelyn let another stablehand take away Wicked Grace.  She smiled at Cullen.  “That’d be fun.  I look forward to it.”

The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked.  “Inquisitor.”

She flashed him a grin and hurried back up to the main hall.  She waved at a servant.

“Have the ambassador come to my quarters.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the young man said with a bow.

“Thank you.”

She nodded at the people in the hall and went straight to her quarters where a bath would be waiting.

The longed for bath was set up in front of the fireplace.  A carved, wooden screen was put up to protect her from view.  She stripped and got into the steaming water without hesitation.

“Inquisitor,” said Josephine from the stairs.

“Come up,” Evelyn called as soon as she settled into the bath.

Josephine sat on the loveseat against the balustrade. 

“A friend of my family, Lord Nadovino is visiting,” Josephine began without preamble.  “We will be having a formal dinner tonight in honour of both your return and his arrival.  He was quite put out that you were not here when he arrived.”

Evelyn made a face and sunk below the water to wet her hair.  She resurfaced and wiped the water out of her eyes.  “Do I have to wear the red uniform?”

Josephine sighed.  “There are two new dresses in your closet.”

“Right.”  Evelyn wrinkled her nose.  “Of course there are.  Dresses.  What else?”

“The preparations for the march to Adamant are well underway.  We’ll be leaving shortly, no doubt.  That decision is, of course, the Commander’s to make and yours to approve.”  Josephine sighed.  “Speaking of the Commander, Vicomte Pontival has challenged him to a duel.”

Evelyn paused as she reached for a handful of ground soapnut.  “A duel?  What for?”

“He believes him to be responsible for the death of his brother at Therinfal Redoubt, Your Grace.”

Evelyn could hear the scratch of Josephine’s quill.

“That’s ridiculous.”  She rubbed the soapnut into her hair.  She knew she should cut it again.  It was becoming unsightly.  Where the sides had once been shaved, there was now a few finger-widths of ragtag growth.

“I agree.  We can’t have Cullen fighting duels in the street.  I believe I know someone who can talk to the vicomte.”

“Please do.”

“And, there is one matter. . .”  Josephine trailed off.

Evelyn arched a brow.  “Yes?”

“It concerns your family.”

“Maker’s Breath, what’s mother done now?”

There was a slight chuckle from the other side of the screen.  “Not your mother.  A distant cousin of yours was overheard threatening a rival with the Inquisition.  This is not the first time this sort of behaviour has been noticed.”

“Really?”  Evelyn sighed.

“I am afraid so.”

Evelyn submerged again to rinse her hair out.

“-bout your family?” Josephine was saying when Evelyn came back up.

“The Inquisition is not a name to be thrown around lightly,” she said.  “Denounce the fools.” Great-aunt Lucille would be beside herself with glee.  Evelyn had a good idea on which cousins were bandying about her name.  She pushed hair back from her eyes.  She frowned.

“Could you. . .”  Evelyn pursed her lips.  If she wanted her hair cut she was going to have to give in to some demands.  She decided to simply skip the bargaining and cut to the chase. “Could you send someone up to help me dress?  I need my hair cut and. . .” She grimaced. “Depending on what they look like I’ll wear one of those dresses.  But not if they’re poofy.  I don’t do poofy.  Or corsets.  Or anything that’s uncomfortable.”

Josephine was silent for a moment.  _Most likely in shock_ , Evelyn thought.

“As you will, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn shook her head.  “You’re smiling, aren’t you?”

“I know just who to send, Your Grace.”

Evelyn laughed at the barely contained glee in the ambassador’s voice.  “I’m sure you do.”

Two well dressed women, Anabelle and Minuet, arrived within minutes of Josephine’s departure.  Their promptness raised Evelyn’s suspicions.  _Just know who to send indeed._ And just how long had they been hovering in the hall waiting to be sent up?

She was brought out of the bath and rubbed down by Minuet while Anabelle began to unpack a wooden box of hair supplies and cosmetics.  Evelyn sighed.  She felt like her mother had come and invaded Skyhold. 

The haircut was quick, if fraught with Evelyn’s objections to suggestions.

“I will not put little braids my hair.  Cassandra can keep that hairstyle to herself,”  “No, I do not want it long in the back,”  “Yes, I’m sure,” and “No, I don’t care if it’s fashionable” were the common phrases.  They finally settled on a simple cut where her bangs were swept off to one side, and the back of her hair was trimmed so she no longer had wisps poking out from behind her ears.  By the end of it, she wished she had just cut it all off again.  It was still short, but long enough to have to fuss with it if she wanted it to look decent, particularly for a formal event.

Evelyn was pleasantly surprised with the dresses.  There was no crinoline or corset in sight.  The first was made of samite.  The skirt was made of many yards of fabric, but it draped nicely at her hips.  The bodice was plain with a scoop neck and long sleeves.  A row of silver buttons along the back of the dress was its only decoration.  The second was made of silk.  She preferred the draped neckline of it to the scoop of the samite one, but Evelyn dismissed it at once.  Silk was not warm enough for Skyhold’s clime.  The samite dress had a matching stole trimmed with fennec fur, which she gratefully draped around her shoulders against the chill.

When it came to the cosmetics and perfume, Evelyn managed to convince the rather disappointed Anabelle that a tiny amount of rouge and a rosey lip stain were all that was needed.  A light citrus-rose blend was dabbed at her neck and wrists. 

“You look lovely, Your Grace,” said Anabelle as she finished tying a navy ribbon in Evelyn’s hair.

Evelyn scowled at the bow that now sat just above her right temple.  “I’m not a child.  Please, no ribbons.”

“But it is all the rage in-“

“No ribbon.”

The woman set her jaw and pulled the end of the bow with an unnecessary jerk.  Evelyn glared at her through the mirror and rubbed her hair line.  The woman jammed the expelled ribbon back into the wooden box. 

Evelyn sighed.  Compromise it was.  “Jewels?”

Minuet looked up sharply from the wardrobe where she was hanging the silk dress.

Anabelle stared at her.

Evelyn arched a brow.  “Jewels.  I know we have them.  I’ve collected enough of them.  They are in the vault, yes?  Well, I may not like ribbons, but I don’t mind jewels.”

“Oh! Yes!  Your Grace!”  The sheer excitement on the woman’s face made Evelyn chuckle.

“Nothing too ornate.  A teardrop sapphire?”  She leaned over to peer into the mysterious and frightening wooden box of femininity.

What Anabelle produced was beautiful.  Evelyn’s face lit up at the sight.  It was indeed a tear shaped sapphire, with a cluster of small diamonds along its bottom edge.  The dainty chain was silver, each link polished to a sheen so that it reflected the light as much as the diamonds did.  The jewel hung in the centre of her forehead, while the chain was pinned into her hair with small silver combs.  The combs were decorated with small sapphire and diamond chips.  Evelyn did pass on the matching ring.  Her signet ring was enough decoration for her fingers.

“Your Grace,” breathed Minuet from the wardrobe when Evelyn rose from the stool.  “You look like a queen.”

Evelyn laughed.  “Inquisitor is enough for me, thank you.”

She looked carefully at her reflection in the mirror.  A regal woman stared back at her.  Evelyn’s breath caught in spite of herself.  No longer was there a girl stuffed into frilly, crinoline filled gowns with curls piled atop her head and ribbons tied about her wrists and ankles.  Her mother would never had dressed her like this.  The woman in the mirror was a woman in charge of her own fate, not a young noble girl told to impress a certain Bann’s son. 

The sapphire and diamonds blazed in the firelight.  She tilted her head to one side to watch the jewels gleam.

“Would you wear these, Your Grace?” asked Anabelle.

Evelyn looked down to see a pair of sapphire and diamond studs in the lady-in-waiting’s cupped palm.

Her ears were pierced as a girl, mother had seen to that, but she had not worn earrings in a long time.  She fingered a lobe.  The holes had closed by now.

Minuet came forward and inspected Evelyn’s ears.

“We can pierce them again, Your Grace,” she offered.

Evelyn wrinkled her nose.  “You have nothing with a screw, then?”

Anabelle nodded.  The second pair were the type made with a clamp and screw, so her ears would not need to be pierced.  The jewels dangled slightly.  They felt funny when she moved her head.  She turned her head to see how the earrings looked against her bare neck.

“Your Grace!” exclaimed Josephine from the top of the stairs.  “You look lovely.”

Evelyn turned to face the ambassador.  “Just don’t expect this all of the time.”  She glanced down at herself. 

Josephine hid a smile behind a hand.  “How is the comfort level?”

Evelyn grinned.  “Quite nice.  Not a piece of boning or wool in sight.”  She wiggled around to showcase the freedom she had.  “No layers of petticoats to trip in.  This is a happy Inquisitor.”

Josephine beamed.  “I am glad to hear it, Your Grace.  Tales of your beauty will be told throughout Thedas after tonight.”

“Just what I need.”  Evelyn shook her head.

“Most women would be pleased,” Josephine said with a purse of her lips.

“With tales of beauty and power come suitors, Josephine,” Evelyn said as she turned back toward the mirror.  The reflection still startled her.

Josephine moved up behind her while Minuet and Anabelle finished packing up.

“Ah.  Yes.  Well, if we let it be known that your betrothed was killed at the Conclave-“

Evelyn cut her off with a shake of her head.  “No.  Enough about my life is circulating around Thedas.  Emmerson need not be entangled with it.”

Josephine bowed her head.  “As you wish, Your Grace.  Shall we descend to the hall?”

Evelyn took one last look at her glittering reflection and nodded.

Josephine went through the door to the hall first after instructing Evelyn to wait a few moments before going through herself.  Evleyn fidgeted behind the door.  The pageantry of the hunt was one thing, formal dinners were another.  It was the pomp she disliked.  Ceremony was fine, but pomp made her cringe.

“Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,” the Inquisiton’s herald announced when she finally pushed open the door. 

The throne had been taken away and been replaced with a table.  Evelyn made her way to the centre chair.  Maxwell was seated to her right and the visiting Lord Nadovino was to her left.  Cullen sat on the other side of Maxwell, and Josephine to the other side of the Antivan lord.  Leliana was absent, Evelyn noted, though there was an empty place setting to Josephine’s left.

Dinner went as most formal banquets did.  Lord Nadovino was particularly fond of the wine Josephine had chosen and made it his mission to see that Evelyn’s glass was always full.  Early in the evening, when Nadovino had slipped away to the water closet, Evelyn motioned for a page. 

She leaned back to whisper to the young man.  “Please, ensure that my wine is always watered.”  The page bowed and from then on endeavored to counteract Lord Nadovino’s attempts at having Evelyn pass out from the now unaccustomed drink at the high table.

Venison with blueberry sauce was on the menu, Evelyn was happy to see.  Maxwell dug into his plate with enthusiasm, as did she.  Sister Yvette was most likely fuming somewhere in the corner, but the chance at eating real food, food fit for the rank she was, pleased Evelyn.  It seemed like ages since she had eaten so well.

When the meal was winding down the minstrel Maryden began to play.  Evelyn was flushed and giddy.  Maxwell was talking to Cullen about the hunt they returned from.  Cullen caught her eye over Maxwell’s shoulder for a brief moment.  A corner of his mouth raised and his eyes crinkled into a smile.  She smiled back and turned away when she felt her face go warm. She took in a deep breath.  She had been nearly two months without wine, she had lost all of her tolerance.  She turned her smile over to Josephine.  Lord Nadovino had left the dais to dance with an attractively masked Orlesian woman once he realized Evelyn was evading all of his advances.

“This was lovely, Josephine.  Thank you.”

Josephine smiled back.  “I am glad you have enjoyed yourself, Your Grace.  Are you retiring?”

Evelyn looked down at the rest of the hall.  Several couples had formed to dance.  Liberal amounts of wine were poured from jugs.  She chuckled.  “Yes.  I don’t think I’m quite ready for this level of revelry.”

Josephine followed her line of sight and nodded.  “Enjoy your evening, Your Grace.”

Evelyn rose and Maxwell twisted in his seat to look up at her.  “Leaving already?”  His nose was red.  It always went red when he drank too much wine. 

Evelyn squeezed his shoulder.  “Yes.  I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself.”  She looked over at Cullen.  “Still up for that game, Commander?”

Cullen looked up and smiled at the question.  “Yes.  I’d like that.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes.  “Oh, Orlais.”

Evelyn laughed.  “I’m still a Free Marcher.  Chess, Maxwell.  A game of chess.”

“Chess?”  Maxwell snorted.  “Since when do you play chess?  You hate it.”

Evelyn opened her mouth and then closed it.  Her face flamed up again and this time she could feel it in her chest as well.  Cullen coughed and rubbed the back of his neck.  Maxwell narrowed his eyes and glanced at both of them.

“The Inquisitor was confined to her quarters,” Cullen said before Evelyn could think of anything to say.  She felt as if her head were stuffed with cotton.  “Chess helped wile away the hours.”

Maxwell looked at Evelyn and shook his head.  “Right.”

“I’m better than I used to be,” Evelyn said to her brother.  “I’m going to beat you soon.”  Evelyn nodded at Cullen.

Cullen laughed.  “You’ll try.”

Evelyn eyed him, which made him laugh more.

“I’ll join you shortly, Inquisitor,” he said before turning back to Maxwell.

Evelyn smiled and nodded at both of the men and again to Josephine who had watched the entire exchange.

“Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,” announced the herald as she approached the door to her quarters. 

The hall paused as everyone bowed and curtsied in good night. 

She nodded in return.  “Let me not keep you from the festivities.  Enjoy yourselves,” she said to those gathered.  She left the hall and went upstairs. 

She was breathless by the time she got to the top.  She paused and held onto the balustrade.  Too much wine.  She felt heady, but rather marvelous, she had to admit.  She moved into the centre of the room and posed in front of the mirror.  She laughed at the sight of herself.  For the first time in her life she felt beautiful.  Oh, it was a useless and frivolous feeling, and a part of her felt silly for paying it any attention, but it was pleasant.  The amount of eyes that had lingered on her over dinner was flattering.  She did a turn in the mirror and giggled as her head began to swim.  She let her sight settle before moved out onto the balcony.  The cool air opened her eyes and braced her.  She let out a breath of relief.  She could not beat Cullen at a game of chess if she was heady with wine, and she had every intention of outmanoeuvering him.

“Inquisitor?” came Cullen’s voice.

“Out here,” she called, though needlessly.  Cullen was already at the balcony doors.  She smiled at him from over her shoulder.  She turned back to the view of the mountains blazing red and gold in the setting sun.  Cullen stopped just behind her.

“It has, uh, been a nice day,” Cullen said.  He rubbed the back of his neck.

She peeled her eyes off of the mountains and looked back at the commander.  “What?”

“It’s. . .” He looked down and then shook his head.  “You wanted to play a game of chess?”

Evelyn smiled and turned back toward the sunset.  “After this.”

They watched the sun set in silence, Evelyn leaning against the railing and Cullen close behind her.  She felt his hand slide onto her hip.  She held her breath.

“I can’t say I haven’t wondered what I would say to you in this situation,” he said.

She bit her lower lip.  This was unexpected, but not unwelcome.  She turned slowly, and his hand glided along her stomach and rested on her other hip when she was facing him.  He stared into her eyes.  Her entire body flushed in response.   Her stomach flopped.  Her mind strayed to the drunken strawberry wine conversation with Dorian.  The idea of Cullen being attracted to her had been a pleasant one, but nothing she took seriously.  Now that she was confronted with his desire, she was not sure what to do.  She leaned back against the railing and took in a deep breath.  She felt her nipples scrape against the samite as her chest moved.  The sensation brought her back to the fact that she had both an attractive and good man leaning in toward her.  He stepped closer.  She could feel the heat of him.

“You’re the Inquisitor.  We’re at war, and you, uh-“ He stopped himself and placed both hands at her waist.  The pressure of his hands caused her loins to glow.  She shifted toward him.  His mouth was close to hers.  “I didn’t think it was possible,” he whispered.

Her body tingled and she lifted her chin.  Evelyn’s pulse quickened and she could feel her heart beat in her neck.  _Oh, Maker,_ she thought.  _What are you doing, Trevelyan?  What are you doing?_ But his proximity felt so good.  She felt his breath on her lips and a thrill went down her spine.  She arched her back in response to the electricity of his hands around her waist.  _Evelyn.  Don’t do this_.  Her breathing became irregular as his fingers stroked her sides.  _Oh, to the Fade with it.  Damn Blackwall and his sense of duty through the Veil and back_.

“What’s stopping you?” she whispered.

The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked.  His lips were so close.  She closed her eyes as anticipation coursed through her veins.

“Commander!” came a voice.

Evelyn jerked back.  Cullen carefully turned to look at a soldier whose attention was fixated on a report.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report,” the soldier said, eyes still focused on the report in his hands.

Cullen inhaled through his teeth.  “What!”

Evelyn inhaled and pressed her lips together.  _Maker_.  The vehemence in Cullen’s voice excited her.  She looked away from the solder as a blush crept up her neck.  She still did not quite believe what was happening.  Her stomach flipped again.  Her inner walls flexed.  She let out a ragged breath.

“Sister Leliana’s report?  You wanted it delivered without delay.”  The messenger looked up from the parchment to find Cullen staring through his brows at him.  He glanced at Evelyn, who was still looking away, and then back at the growling commander.  His eyes went wide and he started to back away.  “Or. . . or to your office.” He licked his bottom lip.  “Right.”  He all but ran down the steps.

Evelyn glanced at the retreating soldier.  She stood straight and smiled nervously at Cullen.  “If you need to-“ She jumped as Cullen crushed his lips against hers with such force that she was pushed back against the railing.  Her knees weakened, and she grabbed around his back to stay upright.  _Maker_.  Her chest began to rise and fall quickly.  She was just about to meet his tongue with her own when he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.  “That was, um, really,” he laughed, “nice.”

She breathed.  “I believe that was a kiss,” she said as she met his eye.  “But I can’t be sure, it’s all a blur.”  She bit her lower lip.

Cullen laughed, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.  “Yes, well.”

Evelyn was ready for him this time, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as his lips met hers.  This kiss was softer.  She brushed her bottom lip against his when it ended, and rested her forehead against his.

“The Maker smiled on me today,” Cullen said.

Evelyn smiled.  “Flatterer.”

“For you?  Always.”


	21. Whiny Little Sister

“Have you spoken to Henry?” Maxwell asked.  The remains of breakfast sat on the table between them.

Evelyn took in a deep breath. She leaned back in her chair and gave a slow shake of her head. “Not in a while.  No.”

Maxwell frowned and looked hard at her.  “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?”  Evelyn let out a small bark of a laugh.  “Let’s see. . . Last time we saw each other he called me a heretical whore.  I disgraced the family and ruined our good name.  Oh, this was a good one.”  She snorted.  “I’m am a smear on Andraste’s name and no better than Tevinter scum.”  Evelyn bit the insides of her cheeks and looked away.  “But mostly, he blames me for your injuries.  And now. . . When he finds out that you’re leaving the Templars. . .”

“What?”  Maxwell got up from his chair and stalked to the fireplace.  He whirled around and narrowed his brows in thought. 

“More asshole than usual, I know.”  She sighed and picked up her tea cup.

Maxwell looked up at her.  “No.”  He shook his head.  “Don’t tell me. . .”  He squinted at her.

Evelyn cocked her head and met his eye. 

“That’s why you ran yourself into exhaustion.”

Evelyn closed her eyes.

“That’s why?  Isn’t it?  Oh, Andraste’s Tits!  Eve.  Evelyn.”  Maxwell moved back to the table and knelt on one knee in front of her.  Evelyn opened her eyes and looked at him.  “None of it was your fault.  I take the blame for this.  You would have been fine.  I know that now.  You would have faded and ran in time, but I interfered.”

“Maxwell,” she said.  She shook her head.  “You don’t have to-“

“Maker!  Do you think I haven’t thought about this?  I spent weeks laying in a bed that wasn’t mine.  And then I spent months. . .”  It was his turn to close his eyes and take in a deep breath.  “I had time.”  He opened his eyes.  “And it was because I doubted you that this happened.  You’re not the same girl who left for the Chantry.  I should never hav-”

“Maxwell,” she smiled at him and took his scarred hand into her own.  She swallowed her own cries of guilt.  “How about we don’t blame anyone?  It was an unfortunate event.  That simple.”  Maxwell pursed his lips.  “And anyway,” she continued before he could say anything else, “while I adore you, my carelessness wasn’t for your sole benefit.”  She withdrew her hands and rose. 

Evelyn wandered over to the window and turned her back on him. “You’re right.  I’m not the same person.”  She ran a finger beneath her eye and wiped the moisture on her leathers.  “I had to change.  Quickly.  And. . .” She stilled.  “This is hard, Max.”  She shook her head.  “This is really hard.”

Maxwell watched his sister deflate, and frowned.  He rested a hand on her shoulder.  “I believe it.  I would never want to be in your position.”

Evelyn sniffed.  She dabbed at her other eye.

Maxwell pretended he did not see.  “You didn’t talk to anyone, did you?  I knew you-”

“Oh, shit.”  Evelyn gave a rueful laugh.  “Yeah.  Yeah I talked to someone.  The wrong fucking person, apparently.”  She sniffled.  “But I talked to someone.”  She turned and shook her head at him.  “Y’know me.  Always pick the wrong guy.”

Maxwell arched a brow at her.   “Cullen? You two seemed fine to me last night.”

“Ah.”  She walked over to the loveseat and sank into it.  “Cullen.”  She covered her mouth with her hand and stared into middle space.  Cullen.  She was not sure how she felt about what she had allowed to happen the night before.  She pushed it from her mind.  Not now.  “No.  Didn’t talk about it with Cullen. I tried, but. . .  No.”  She slouched into the armrest.  “I chose Blackwall.”

Maxwell joined her.  “What happened?”

“He chickened the fuck out.  That’s what happened.”  Evelyn snorted.  “I was named Inquisitor and. . .  And he. . . Suddenly our duty came first and. . . It was as if nothing had ever happened.”  She swallowed hard.

“Oh, Eve,” Maxwell wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.  She rested her head on his shoulder.  “Eve, I’m sorry.”

“But you can’t. . .  I can’t.  I’m the leader.  So, no, I can’t take time to sit back and mourn poor Emmer.  I- A demon was in my head.  In my head, Maxwell.  Do you know-“ She shook herself.   “And, I’ve got an elf who thinks that spirits are people.  And I’ve met spirits. . . Balls, we've got a spirit here. He's a bit weird, but he's a good kid. Everything we are doing challenges, well, everything.  No wonder the Chantry didn’t want to support us.  We’re terrifying.”  She rubbed her forehead.  “But no, I’ve just gotta suck it up, and soldier on.”  She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.  “I’ve gotta save the fucking world.”  She clenched her left hand.

Maxwell gave her a squeeze.  “If anyone can, it’s you.”

Evelyn laughed and punched him lightly in the arm. 

Maxwell screamed and fell over onto his side clutching at his arm.

“Oh Maker!”  Evelyn sat up and reached out for him.  “I’m so sorry.  Are you alright?  Do you need a healer?”

Maxwell stopped and stared at her, his eyes wide. 

“Maxwell?”

He gave her a wide grin and fell over in laughter.

“Oh!  That was not funny.”  She glared at him.

“That was priceless,” he said through his laughter.

“Was not!”  She punched him again, only this time with a lot more force.

“Oh!” cried Maxwell.  “Oh, you’ve started it now.  It’s battle time.”

“You want to fight?”  Evelyn beamed at him.  “You sure you’re up for it, being crippled and all.”

Maxwell stuck his tongue in his cheek and shook his head at her.   “I don’t have much to worry about a whiny little sister.”

“Ha!”  Evelyn lunged for the bed and took hold of a pillow.  She swung it just in time to hit Maxwell as he leapt after her.  The length of the pillow hit him square in the chest with a feathery whomp.

“Your Grace!” cried a soldier as he and another came barreling up the stairs.

Evelyn landed on the mattress on her side and Maxwell bounced off of the edge and fell to the floor.  Evelyn giggled.  She crawled up onto all fours and peered over the edge of the bed.

“You alright?”

Maxwell grinned up at her.  “I’m great.”

“Your Grace?  We heard yelling.”

Evelyn laughed again.  “Just some sibling competition, boys.”  She grinned at them.

“Inquisitor,” said the elder of the two.  They both saluted and turned on their heels.

Evelyn waited until she heard the echo of the door closing at the base of the stair before she lay down on the bed.

“Maxwell,” she said.

Maxwell got up onto his feet and dusted himself off.  “Yes?”

 “Thanks for coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you decide to listen to Spotify's "Cinematic Chill-Out" playlist. It makes you sappy.


	22. Precipice

Evelyn parried the sword thrust with the bladed tip of her bow and leapt out of the soldier’s reach in a backward arc.

“Halt!” cried the lieutenant who was overseeing the practice match.  He cleared his throat.  “Inquisitor.”

She wrinkled her nose.  This was the fourth time he had stopped the match.  “What did I do now?”

“You need to stay inside the ring for it to be valid.”

Her brows shot upward.  “Inside the ring?”  She shook her head.  “I don’t see it that way.  I now have a barrier between him and myself.  He has to either climb or jump over it, which gives me time to shoot and kill him.  Seems like a sound strategy to me.”

There was a murmur of chuckles around the upper bailey.  The lieutenant closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

“That’s not the rules of the game, Inquisitor.”

“Whoa.”  Evelyn held up her hand.  “You asked me to help train some new recruits.  So, first lesson, war is not a game.  Second, there are no rules save for how you treat your prisoners.  When you’ve got someone coming at you, ready to slice you open, you do what you have to do to keep that from happening.  That usually means killing them first.  If it means leaping back and out of a circle, it means leaping back and out of a circle.  We’ll be marching to Adamant in a few days, lieutenant.  Demons don’t care about rings and rules.  They just want to rip your head off.”

The clatter of horses’ hooves at the gate caused her to stop her tirade and turn around.  She wandered over to the edge of the upper bailey and looked down to see who was coming back in.  Soldiers and patrols were arriving back to Skyhold in droves in preparation for the big march.  She narrowed her eyes at a familiar gambeson and breastplate.  She swallowed.  Blackwall.

She pressed her lips together and straightened her shoulders.  People would be watching this interaction, she knew, particularly after the other night with Cullen.  The soldier who had walked in on them – she never did find out his name – had not wasted any time in telling his friends.  Whenever she and Cullen were anywhere near each other she could hear the mutters and twitters.  And now Blackwall had returned.

“Gonna shit yerself?” came Sera’s familiar voice from behind her.  “’Cause this probably is a good time for that.  Beardy isn’t gonna be happy about Jackboot, and Jackboot isn’t gonna be happy ‘bout Beardy being back.  Certainly can’t hide, not with everyone watchin’.  And Beardy is already lookin’ up here.  You gonna tell him?”

Evelyn held her breath and looked back down.  Blackwall was indeed looking up at her.  Their eyes met.

“I should at least take his report,” Evelyn said.

Sera snorted.   “At least?  You’ve already failed at that, Herald.  The least you coulda done was treat him with some respect instead of sending him off.”

Evelyn frowned and looked at Sera who had moved beside her.  “I’d appreciate it if you stopped commenting on my personal life.”

“Oh, someone’s putting on their big breeches, I see.  Watch it.  I’ve got more ‘an pies up my sleeve.  Well, don’t say I didna warn ya.”  Sera waved an arm at her and stalked off toward the tavern.

Evelyn let out her breath slowly.  With a quick nod of her head, she descended the stairs.  Blackwall met her at the bottom.

“My Lady,” he said softly.  He watched her face with what she could only label as anxiousness.

He was filthy from being on the road for months.  He smelled of a ripe mixture of horse and sweat.  She was reminded of the first time they met at the lake with his conscripts.  She gave him a nod.

“Blackwall,” she said in return.

They stared at each other.  Evelyn’s heart echoed in her ears.

“Welcome back,” she said finally.

Blackwall tried to find a sign, any sign, of what that welcome could mean.  It had been a long patrol, and he had done a lot of thinking during the ride.  The memory of Gleithall kept him awake at nights.  The memory of the sobs that wracked her body, and then the moment when she turned to look at him, her face screwed in grief.  _Leave me!_ She had yelled.  She needed comfort.  She needed him.  He had wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close in her sorrow.  He had heard her brother’s comments, and while he was not entirely sure what they were about, he could tell they cut her deep.  When he stepped toward her she had yelled that order again, but this time it came out like a shriek.  A vehement shriek.  Her eyes had gone dark and pierced into him. 

A few days later Cassandra came to him with orders to lead some recruits on a patrol that would last months, ostensibly to give them experience.  Evelyn had not seen them off.  He had deserved it.  He knew it.  The way he had ended things on the ramparts. . . His stomach dropped at the memory.  He clenched his jaw. 

And now, to look at her. . .  Nothing but skin and bones, though better, Dennet told him, than she looked before.  A ghost, Dennet called her.  And Blackwall knew, he _knew_ , that the way he had treated her had contributed to her fall in health. 

Evelyn knew he was watching her every movement.  She felt the tension between them and feared everyone else could as well.  His eyes were as dark as ever, and when those eyes met hers her body hummed in response.  She gave herself a mental shake.

“Well, after you’ve cleaned up, see me in my office,” she gave herself a mental pat on the back for not using the word quarters, “for a full report.  A glass before dinner?”  There were no visiting dignitaries at the moment, thank the Maker.  Her time before dinner would not be spent getting ready.

“Yes, My Lady,” he said with a small bow of his head.  He kept his eyes on hers through the motion.  A small thrill went down her spine.  A ghost of a smile appeared on Blackwall’s lips.

 _Oh Maker.  I’ve made a mistake_ , Evelyn thought as the warden turned and walked toward his mount, still laden with his gear and saddle bags.  She glanced up at Cullen’s tower and thought she caught a glimpse of him ducking into his office, but she could not be sure.  She had to talk to him, but not now.  Not immediately after talking to Blackwall.  There were too many eyes on her.  After dinner.  She would speak to him then.

She ate her lunch in the hall and slowly made her way to the war room to discuss the last minute preparations of the assault.  The commander was already there, she knew, as she had seen him pass through the hall as she ate.  Josephine was not at her desk, and Evelyn sighed in relief.  She was already in the war room then, which meant Evelyn would not have to face Cullen alone just yet.  Brightened at the prospect of delay, Evelyn pushed open the door and strode into the war room.

Cullen looked up from the large map of Thedas and smiled at her.  Josephine was not in the room.  Evelyn’s heart sank.

“Hello,” he said with a smile.  He straightened and strode toward her.

She forced a smile on her face. “Hello, Cullen.”

He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek.  His lips were soft and warm on her flesh.  She closed her eyes as her resolution slipped away.  Blackwall had pushed her away.  He had ended things.  Cullen wanted to be next to her.  He wanted to support her.  Maker, he _had_ supported her when she needed it most.  On the way here from Haven and again after. . .  After Maxwell.  She opened her eyes and gave him a genuine smile.  Cullen was a good man, and he would never leave her at the first sign of hardship.  She turned her head and caught his lips in a tender kiss.

“Maker,” Cullen whispered into her hair.  “I thought maybe. . .”  He shook his head and stepped back.  “Blackwall has returned.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.

Evelyn sighed.  “Yes.  Yes, he has.  I’ll take his report before dinner.”

“Whose report?” asked Cassandra as she entered the room.

“Blackwall’s,” Evelyn said.

“Ah.  Yes, I saw him in the lower bailey earlier,” Cassandra said.  She glanced at Cullen who had gone back to the war table.

Leliana strode into the room.  “Sorry I’m late.”

“Still waiting on the ambassador,” Cassandra said.  She sat on a stool.

Leliana arched her brows.  “That’s not like Josie.  She must have been delayed.”

“She was negotiating a lyrium deal last I saw her,“ Cullen said.

“Ah,” Leliana said with a nod.  “That’s it then.  Well, let’s start without her, shall we?”

“Right,” Cassandra said.  “How are the troops, Commander?”

“The troops are ready.  We’re just waiting on some supply issues.  We can march in two days.”

“Have we agreed on a route?” Leliana asked.  She settled onto the stool next to Evelyn.

Cassandra spoke.  “I still think the northern road-“

Cullen cut her off with a shake of his head.  “No.  It narrows at the pass,” he pointed at the map.  “We’d be sitting ducks for an ambush.  The southern road is our best bet.”

Cassandra furrowed her brows.  “But then we have to cross at the ford here,” she stood up and pointed.  “The river is wide, and it will be fast at this time of year with the spring thaw.”

“The ford is shallow, regardless of the thaw,” Leliana said.  “I agree with the Commander.  It’s the better route.  The narrow passage through the cliffs on the northern road are too much of a danger.  The wardens are not stupid.  They know we’re coming.”

“Inquisitor?”  Cassandra looked at her.

“Sorry Cassandra, but I agree with them.”

“That settles it then, the southern road,” Cullen said with a  nod.

Cassandra shook her head.  “I still think it’s a mistake.  We’re going to be travelling with siege equipment.”

“It’ll be in pieces in wagons,” said Cullen.  “We’ll assemble it all when we get there.”

“The wagons-“

“Cassandra,” Leliana said with a sigh.  “It’s either be ambushed in a bottleneck by archers, mages and demons, or crossing a ford.”

“You said yourself the wardens know we’re coming.  Do you think they can’t make the river crossing hard on us?”

Evelyn shook her head at the seeker.  “We’ll send forward scouts, Cassandra.  We’ll be fine.”  She nodded in decision.  “We’ll be using the river crossing.  I will not jeopardize this mission by getting caught in the pass.”

“Good,” Cullen said.  “But Cassandra does have a point.  We’ll have to be on guard for attack when we cross.  Particularly when the wagons go through.  We should keep our supplies in the middle of the column to protect them.”

Evelyn winced.  “We’ll rotate the column, then.  The wagons are going to leave the road in a rough state.  It’ll be some hard marching.  Don’t want to tire the men behind them before we get there.”

“Agreed,” Cullen said.

Josephine came hurrying into the war room.  “Sorry about that,” she said in a rush.  “The negotiations took longer than expected.”

The rest of the meeting took several passes of the glass as they agonized over every detail and went over contingency plans for every foreseeable event.  When they finally agreed that they had done everything they could and the rest was in the Maker’s hands, Evelyn had a crick in her neck and her stomach was rumbling.  She glanced out of the window and sighed.  Still a couple more turns of the glass before dinner.  Normally she would stop by the kitchen and grab a meat roll, but provisions were tight so close to the army’s departure.  Even being the Inquisitor would not save her from the cook’s sharp admonishments for pinching food.

“Do you have a moment?” asked Cullen from her elbow.

She glanced at him and nodded.  “Of course.”  Her stomach sank.  She had a strong suspicion what this was about.  Maker, she was not ready.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward.  He opened the door for her and stepped aside to let her through.  They walked out into the hall and through the rotunda; the quickest way to Cullen’s office.  Solas was not where he usually was, but Evelyn caught drifts of his and Dorian’s voices from up in the library. 

Cullen offered her his arm and she looked at it in surprise.  Slowly, she slid her arm in his.  He smiled at her again and led her in a stroll across the upper bailey ramparts to his tower.  She would have enjoyed it if her stomach had not been in knots. 

When they were in his office, and the door was closed behind them, Cullen whirled around and pressed himself against her.  Her breath caught, and he kissed her.  One hand grasped her waist while the other held her head.  Warmth flooded through her.  Her back arched in response to his touch and her misgivings seemed unimportant.  He pulled back from the kiss, but kept a hold on her.  He smiled at her through narrowed eyes.  Evelyn shivered at the need in them, which made him smile more.  The hand around her waist slid down and cupped her behind.  He let out a little growl and kissed her ear.

Evelyn tilted her head to give him access to her neck.  Her body tingled as his tongue grazed along the tender spot where her neck met her collar bone.  “The night we kissed in the balcony; how long had you wanted to do that?” she breathed.

He laughed into her skin.  “Longer than I should admit.”  Each word tickled her neck and her groin pulse with every puff of breath.

She closed her eyes.  “You don’t have much patience for nobility.  I’m glad my title didn’t scare you off.”

Cullen gave her neck one last kiss before leaning back just enough so he could look at her face.  His brow furrowed.  “I hadn’t considered. . . I have no title outside the Inquisition.”  He frowned and pulled away.  “I hope that doesn’t- I mean, _does_ it. . . bother you?”

Cullen watched her closely.  He had observed her greeting Blackwall this morning.  He, along with everyone else, had watched their exchange with bated breath.  Even from the ramparts he could sense the tension between them, and he had not been sure if it had been the kind of tension that should worry him.  And that, of course, worried him.  Leliana had done some considerable information gathering on Blackwall, and while the man was not nobility, he had an impressive amount of medals and accolades.  He was the kind of man that a Bann may very well forgive for not having the right lineage simply because of his ability and military decorations.

Evelyn thought of her mother and Henry and sighed.  “ _Some_ members of my family might care, but my opinion is what matters.”

Relief flooded through Cullen.  “I’m not very good at this, am I?” he murmured.  “If I seem unsure, it is because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted _anyone_ in my life.”  He smiled at her.  “I wasn’t expecting to find that here.  Or you.”

He cupped her chin with his hand and ran his thumb along her lower lip.  His confidence surged when she tilted her head back in response.  Her lips were like electricity when they touched his.  Something deep in him stirred.  He wanted to press her back against the door and have her, all of her, right now.  The way her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths- he knew she wanted him.  All he had to do was-

“The commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste,” Evelyn said with a smile as she ended the kiss.  “That will have people talking.”

Cullen let his hand drop and sighed.  “You wouldn’t believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

Evelyn laughed and shook her head.  The twinkle in her eye let him know she knew all too well.  “Does it bother you?”

“I’d rather my – our – private affairs remain that way.”  He smiled at her.  “But, if there was nothing here for people to talk about,” he slipped his arms around her waist.  “I would regret it more.”

Both of their heads turned toward the far door as they heard booted feet and voices outside it.

“Think you could slip away?” Evelyn asked.

Cullen smiled at her.  “I think so.  Wait for me?”

Evelyn nodded and exited Cullen’s tower onto the ramparts just as someone rapped on the opposite door.

She leaned on the battlements and looked out over the mountains.  Maker, was she confused.  There was a part of him that was coiled like a snake just waiting to strike.  She had felt it just now as he held her.  If she had not spoken he would have taken her right there.  She was sure of it.  Her body responded of its own accord to it.  Cullen could easily make her dizzy with desire for him when he tried.  It was just so at odds with his nervous neck rub and hesitant comments.  She licked her lips and slowed her breathing in attempt to calm herself.

She did not know Cullen was behind her until his hands were at her waist again.  She turned in his arms and his mouth muffled any words she had to say.  He caught her lower lip between his teeth before he stepped back, and gave her such a smile that her inner walls convulsed.  The smile promised things to come.  She touched her lips with her fingers and his smile widened.  Without a word he went back to his tower.

Evelyn let out her breath when the door closed behind him.  She swallowed and straightened herself.  The way he had looked at her-  She gave herself a shake.  She still had things to do.  And a report to hear. . . She glanced down into the lower bailey.  Blackwall stood in the doorway of the stable, watching her.  So, he now knew.  Well, that was that. 

Blackwall waited for her to descend the stairs before he nodded to her in greeting.

“Inquisitor.”

His hair was wet and his beard was freshly trimmed, she noted.  The scent of leather and horse was still there, but the reek of sour sweat was gone.

“Warden Blackwall,” she said, echoing his formality.  “Ready for that report?”

He nodded.  “As you wish.  You are, after all, in charge.”

Evelyn swallowed.  She deserved that.  She turned and led the way up the stairs to the upper bailey. 

Evelyn ignored the curious looks as the two of them crossed the hall to the dais.  A soldier held the door to her quarters open for the pair of them.  She hesitated for a brief moment at the doorway, tempted to have the guard accompany them, but she dismissed the idea.  She owed Blackwall more than that.

 _You don’t owe him anything_ , another part of her whispered.  _He left you when you needed him most_.

When they got to her quarters she sat safely behind her desk.  Blackwall stood at attention as if he was any other soldier.  He kept his eyes straight ahead and focused on the space just above her head.

The warden’s report was concise and efficient, just as she expected it to be.  He brought no news Leliana’s people had not provided her with already, but he was sure that the recruits would be ready for the assault on Adamant.  She listened in silence for the most of it, and kept her questions few and far between.    While his patrol had been a long one, it had been routine. Her mind began to wander near the end of it, which is why she was startled when he stopped and asked a question.

“So, you and the commander?”

Evelyn looked at him.  He was looking at her now.  She breathed. “You saw.  I’m sorry, that’s not how-“

Blackwall shook his head at her.  “I was watching you.  He saw.”

Cullen.  Evelyn stared at Blackwall as the meaning of those two sentences sunk in.  A part of her raged that he chose to- To _claim_ her like that.  Furious, even.  She stood and tapped the desk with a fist.  Evelyn clenched her jaw and frowned.  But there was another part of her that was thrilled by it.  The way he had looked at her when he walked away.  Shivers went down her spine and Evelyn turned away from both her desk and Blackwall.  She closed her eyes and stilled herself. 

“I am sorry we are in this position.” She measured each word. “Regardless of who put us in it.” Evelyn licked her lips and rolled back her shoulders.  She turned around and looked at Blackwall.  His jaw was set.  She could see the veins in his neck, but he stood tall and straight.  Guilt ate at Evelyn’s stomach.  She bit the insides of her cheeks, and blinked a few times before she squeezed her eyes.  “I’m sorry, Blackwall.”

Blackwall struggled to keep himself together.  Bile rose and he swallowed hard.  The fact that she stood there apologizing to _him_ filled him with shame.  He felt himself heat up and he shifted his feet.  Maker, she had nothing to apologize for.  She had done nothing wrong.  It had been him. . .  He had been weak and selfish and had taken advantage of her.  And then he’d abandoned her on a rampart knowing she had so much weight on her shoulders she could barely stand. 

It cut him to see her with that. . . The commander.  He wanted to punch that manicured face and throw the man over the side of the battlements.  And after Cullen had kissed her on the ramparts he had made sure to smile down at Blackwall. Blackwall gritted his teeth and flared his nostrils.  But, it was Evelyn’s choice, and he did not blame her.  How could he after what he did? 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he rasped.  “I hope you find happiness.  Good night,” he paused, unsure, but he said it anyway, “My Lady.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered back.

Blackwall gathered himself and turned his back on her.  Each step was leaden agony, but he pushed himself through it.  After he closed the door at the base of the stairs, he leaned against the stone wall and shut his eyes.  His stomach plummeted to his feet and his chest shook as he struggled to take in a breath. 

What had he done? 

Evelyn. . .  Lost. 

Only himself to blame.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen. I know a lot of people see him as fluffy and romantic and a tad cheeseball, and well, there's an aspect of him that is. HOWEVER, he's also a man who knows his business. He's a commander of an army. He's a shrewd tactician, intelligent, stern and no nonsense. He expects to be obeyed. You can see that in the way he grabs and kisses her in the first kiss scene, and then again with the second kiss on the ramparts. The look he gives as he walks away is incredible. The artists did an excellent job with that smile. It's got a bit of a devilish glint to it. And then there's the desk scene. There's a dark side to our darling commander.
> 
> And then Blackwall. My belly always gets into a knot when I try to empathize with him. The amount of guilt and self loathing that eats at him every second of every day is astounding. I can only imagine. I hope to hell I never have to feel that, because I think it is probably very awful. I feel a lot for Blackwall. I was watching scenes on YouTube for dialogue earlier and re-watched the scene of him breaking up with the Inquisitor on the ramparts. Only this time it was a different user than I have viewed before, and they chose a dialogue option that I had never chosen. Blackwall tells her that she needs to put on the name of Inquisitor and Herald because people need her to. She needs to do it to believe in herself so she can help everyone else. Or at least, that's the sense of it. And that's exactly what he did. He chokes a bit when he says it, too.  
> ________________________________________  
> And thanks to MellorianJ for allowing me to use their art. Check out their stuff here: http://mellorianj.deviantart.com/


	23. The Ford

“Sir, it’s stuck.”

Cullen stared at the soldier from atop his horse.  His legs were soaking wet and he had a pool of water in his boots.  Cullen twitched his toes; they were starting to itch.

From his perch on a small rise Cullen could see the tilted wagon in the centre of the river.  One of its back wheels appeared to be lodged in something.  There was a queue of wagons behind it.  With the spring thaw the ford was a narrow path of safety amid rapids.  Cullen sighed.

“I can see that, lieutenant.  Get it out.”

“Sir-“

“Leverage it with something.  Talk to the sappers.”

The lieutenant saluted.  “Yes, sir.”

Cullen shook his head at the man’s back.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” asked Evelyn as she approached.

Cullen looked at her and gave her a tentative smile.  He was unsure where they stood.  Something had changed between them and the cause was eluding him.  She was still friendly, but she was not as eager as before if he made any advances toward her.  Something had happened to cause her to step back.  He wracked his brain as to why, but came up with nothing.  He had heard a rather filthy rumour about the two of them and wondered if that may be it, but he did not think so.  She was not the type to be affected by rumour. 

“I’ve had better mornings,” he admitted.

Evelyn smiled and sat on a rock.  She began to undo the laces of a boot.

“We knew this was going to happen.  It was inevitable.”

Cullen made a face.  “Cassandra is smug, no doubt.”

Evelyn chuckled.  “She’s down on the bank yelling at people.  I think she’s in her element.”  She pulled at the boot and wiggled her foot out of it.  She over turned the boot and brown water trickled onto the gravel.  Evelyn wrinkled her nose.  “Any sign of trouble?”

Cullen shook his head.  “Scouts haven’t reported anything yet.”

“Good,” said Evelyn.  She peeled off her sock and began to wring it out.

“Oh, for the love of-“ Cullen glared at the wagon.

Evelyn glanced up.  From the amount of yelling and swearing that was coming from the river she had a good idea of what was happening.  “Axle break?”

“Looks like it,” he said through grinding teeth.

“They’ll get it.”

Cullen pressed his lips together.

“Evelyn?”

Evelyn paused.  “Yes?”

Cullen’s stomach somersaulted.  He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Have I done something to-“

A horse screamed.

Evelyn jerked her head in the direction of the sound.  One of the horses in the water was thrashing.  She could see red in the water.  She frowned.  Had it cut itself?  One of the soldiers grabbed at the bridle of the horse.

Cullen narrowed his eyes.  “What is going on down there?”

And then a soldier screamed.  Evelyn watched as he fell.

“Archers!” came a yell from the river.

“Maker’s Breath!” breathed Cullen.  “We’re under attack.  Lieutenant!”

Another scream came from on the other side of the river.  And then another.  Angry and confused shouting erupted on both banks.

Evelyn furrowed her brows and watched as their men began to fall.

“Inquisitor!” came a shout. 

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder.  Blackwall was running toward her.  His sword was drawn.  Sera was not far behind him.

“We’ve walked right into an ambush.  There’s archers in the-“

“In the hills over there,” Evelyn pointed.  “And over there,” she nodded her head in the opposite direction.  “I know.”

“Shit.” Cullen’s horse began to prance.

Evelyn shot him a look.  “It’s not as bad as it looks.  I think it’s only a handful of archers trying to make it look like there’s more.  They’re shooting in syncopated waves from each direction.  We’re on it.”  She unslung her bow from her back and waved at both Blackwall and Sera to follow her.  The warden was not her first choice, but the men dying in the river did not care about her personal life.

Sera giggled.  “Don’t know if you noticed, but yer missin’ a boot.”

Evelyn glanced down at her bare foot.  “No time.  Where’s Varric?  We could use Bianca right about now.”

“Already ahead of you, Herald,” said the dwarf as he approached.  Cole trailed behind him.  “There’s two groups.”

Evelyn waved a hand at him.  “Yeah, in both hills.  We’ll go east first and then circle around that rise to get the group in the west.”  She sighed in relief at the sight of Cole.  “Right.  Varric, Sera, and Cole, you’re with me.  We need stealth for this one.” 

“Understood, Your Worship,” Blackwall said with a nod.  He turned around and walked away.

Evelyn glanced at Cullen.  The commander was watching the warden with a frown.  Evelyn bit back a sigh.  She did not have time for this. 

The four rogues stalked their way to the eastern hills.  They hugged the treeline for a few hundred feet until Varric stopped them with a hiss.

“Traps.  We’re getting close.  Watch your step.”

“Oh, these asshats are gettin’ bees,” muttered Sera.  She fingered one of the jars hanging from her belt.  “Traps.  I friggin’ hate traps.  All pinchy grabby.”

It was a quarter glass before they caught a glimpse of the archers.  There were five of them huddled in the boulders.

Evelyn licked her lips.  “Everyone, stay out of sight.  Sera throws in the bees and then we shoot.  Cole-” Evelyn looked at the spirit.  “You do. . . you.”

“I could make them forget.  The singing is getting stronger.  The song is dark-“

“Ok, ‘nuff of the creepy shit.” Sera frowned.

“I think the slashing daggers thing would be best for this situation, kid,” said Varric.

“Right.”  Evelyn nodded.  “Ready?  Let’s go.”

They all faded from view and began to make their way toward the wardens.  When Evelyn was in range, she knelt down onto one knee and took an arrow from her quiver.  She chose the warden to the furthest left.  She notched the arrow and waited for the chaos of Sera’s bees to be unleashed.

Evelyn did not wait long.  Glass shattered and a cloud of angry bees swirled into the group of wardens.  The resulting panic was noisier than Evelyn wanted, but she knew the moment Sera mentioned bees that it would happen whether Evelyn wanted it to or not.  It was better for everyone if they simply factored the bees into their plan.  The last time Evelyn had told Sera no she had been stung a good half dozen times.   

Evelyn drew her bow, sighted, and let the arrow loose.  It flew straight into the neck of the warden.  He fell with a gurgled scream.  She saw a flash of a dagger as the adjacent warden crumpled into a heap.  Another archer was suddenly coated in a layer of ice.

“Snuffed it!” Sera squealed.

By the time Evelyn had another arrow notched and ready to go all of the wardens were down.  Varric was already rifling through their pockets.

“Nothing important on them,” he said.

Evelyn nodded.   There was still shouting coming from the river.  She leaned over a boulder and looked down.  The archers had a perfect view of the ford from here.  “Right.  Let’s get that other group.”

They found the bodies of three Inquisition scouts in a copse of trees. 

“Claw marks,” she said after squatting down to take a look at them.  “Looks like a rage demon did this.  The wounds were cauterized.”

“Rage demons don’t hide bodies,” Varric said from over her shoulder.  “Looks like we’ve got a mage to deal with.”

“Friggin’ blood magic.”  Sera spat.

Cole frowned.  “Twisted.  It did not want to come, but he called it and-“

“Hey!  I said ‘nuff of that.  Varric, do something about it.”

Varric patted Cole’s shoulder.  “Ok, kid.  Let’s go find the mage who did this, shall we?”

Sera watched as the dwarf lead the spirit away.  She shivered.  “Creepy.”

The second group was arrayed much as the first was, only there was a spellbinder hunkered down in their midst. 

Evelyn scowled.  “The mage first.”

The wardens did not know what hit them.  The four rogues appeared from nowhere and hit the group hard and silent.  The mage fell when an arrow and a bolt hit him from each side.  A fire grenade finished him off.  Evelyn nodded across at Varric before she notched another arrow.  The skirmish was finished just moments after it began.

“Anything?” asked Evelyn.

Both Varric and Sera shook their heads.

“No orders,” Varric said.  “This one’s got an nice bow, if you’re interested.”

Evelyn peered at it and shook her head.  “Naw.  I’m good.  Sera?”

“What?” Sera squinted at it.  “Nope.  Got a better one.  But that’s a nice rune.  Dagna can use it.”

Varric nodded and began to unstring the bow.

Evelyn peered around.  “Where’s that demon?”

“Gone.  He couldn’t hold on.  It was too strong.  They had to kill it.  Had to send it back.”

Sera pursed her lips.  “Right.”

Cole tilted his head at her.  “You don’t have to be afraid, Sera.  I won’t hurt you.”

“Go away.”

“I won’t stab you when you are looking somewhere else.  I won’t do that to your boots.  Or that other thing to your arrows.  I don’t understand what that last thing is, but I won’t do it either.”

Sera clenched her teeth.  “Ugh! Why does it keep talking to me?”

“Well, that makes it easier then,” Evelyn said.  “We should get back.”

“Might wanna take a look at your foot first, Herald.”  Varric made a face.

Evelyn looked down.  Her foot was bleeding.  She balanced on her booted foot and inspected the bottom of her bare one.   She wrinkled her nose.  She must have stepped on a sharp rock.  She poked at it and hissed between her teeth.  It was deep.

“No one brought bandages, I’m assuming?”

“Right out, I’m afraid,” Sera said.  “Got this elfroot potion, though.  Pour this on it.”

Evelyn hobbled to a boulder and sat down.  She reached out for the bottle from Sera and was about to uncap it when Sera yelled incoherently.

“Wait!  Not that one.  Here.  This one.  Right?  Yeah.  This one.  They’re both red, yeah?  Hard to tell sometimes.  Always a pisser when I throw the elfroot at a demon.”

“Is that what happened last time?” Varric asked.  “I could have sworn that shriek was about to keel over.”

“Er- Yes, well, it all worked out in the end.  Demon dead.  Us alive.  All is good.”

Evelyn tuned the rest of their chatter out as she cleaned her wound.  There was the usual tingling sensation followed by cool numbness from the elfroot potion.  She lingered over the task.  She did not want to go back.  Now that everything was fine again Cullen was going to finish asking that question, and she did not want him to.  Not now.  Not right before they assaulted a fortress.  She had to keep her wits about her.  Haven was one thing, but this. . . This was different.  This was war.  This was catapults and trebuchets and battering rams.  Armies.  She swallowed.

“Shut it!  La la la la!  I’m not listeniiing.”

Varric sighed and turned from Sera to look at Evelyn.  “Ready?”

Evelyn scowled.  “Ready as I’ll ever be.  Let’s go.”

**~*~**

With her foot bandaged and her boot back on, Evelyn headed toward the officer’s tents.  Her eyelids drooped and her stomach rumbled. It had been a long day.  They had lost sixteen men and had thirty-seven wounded.  Three horses had to be put down.  Two other wagons had gotten stuck after they finally managed to get the first one out.  By the time the entire army had crossed it had been dark for several turns of the glass.  Now everyone huddled around fires in an attempt to dry off.  The camp stank of wet wool and dirty socks.

Blackwall, Sera, Varric and Cassandra all sat by the fire at the top of the hill.

“Trouble with you and. . . _Harding_?” Blackwall was asking Sera.

Varric chuckled.  “That joke never gets old.”

“Harding?” asked Cassandra, her eyes wide.  “Sera and. . . The scout?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”  Sera glared at Cassandra.

Blackwell nodded.  “Right.  Right.”

“It’s just. . .” Sera mashed her face into a scowl.  “Frig.  Frigging, piss-tossing frig!”

“Uh huh.” Blackwall said.  “Tavern after all this?  We can drink everything.  Pick you out a serving wench.”

“Rrrgh!” Sera let out.

Blackwall smiled.  “Fine.  You can pick me one.”

Evelyn swallowed and shuffled into view.

“Herald!” called Varric.  “Join us.  Your hunter friend made sure our pot was full.  Venison!  No nug in sight.  Grab a roll.”

Evelyn took the offered round loaf and sat down on the empty stool next to Cassandra.  She hollowed out the top and chewed.  She could feel Blackwall’s eyes on her.  She nodded at him.

“It’ll be clear marching from here on out, then,” Blackwall said.

“Should be,” Cassandra said.  “Unless the wardens have more surprises laid out for us.”

“I doubt it,” said Varric.  “There were only ten against an army today.  I think this was just a formality.  They’re busy summoning demons.”

“Demons,” Sera spat.  “The Wardens are idiots if they think _demons_ are going to help them.  And hey.  _You’re_ a warden.”  Sera turned to Blackwall.

“Yes?”

“I thought you were all beardy.  The wardens we got today didna have beards.”

Blackwall’s mouth quirked.  “Just me.  I stole all the beards, and all the power stored within.  There can be only one.”

Evelyn snorted a laugh.

“Beardy!” giggled Sera.

Blackwall and Evelyn’s eyes met.  He winked.  “Fuzzyhead.”

Sera crowed.  “Grand!”

Evelyn grinned and shook her head.   She got up to ladle some stew from the pot into her bread bowl.

“So, Varric,” Blackwall said.  “I don’t suppose you follow jousting?”

Varric grunted.  “I’m a free marcher, remember?  We invented jousting.”

Blackwall arched a brow.  “That’s not actually true, you know.”

“It is!  Before us, no one ever thought to push people off things with large sticks.  Historical fact.”

Evelyn grinned and sat back down. 

“Alright.”  Blackwall shook his head.  “Greatest knight in history.  My money’s on Lady Honorine Chastaine.  No one’s ever come close to unhorsing more riders than her.  I’ve seen her joust live, and I have to tell you, up close she has magnificent . . .” He glanced at Evelyn.  “Technique.”

Evelyn laughed.  “Riiight.  He means breasts.  The woman had enormous breasts.”

“Oooo!  I like titties.” Sera grinned.  “She was a big warrior-type, yeah?  Woof.”

Varric shook his head.  “Her victory in the grand tourney of Tantervale is pretty legendary, but I’d have to go with Reveta.  Winning three consecutive grand tourneys!  Who does that?”  He paused and stared at the fire in admiration.  “Hey!  You know, they’re holding a grand tourney in Markham soon.  I think we should all go.  Inquisition road trip!”

Blackwall grinned.  “There’s got to be. . . trouble or something up near Markham.”

Both the warden and the dwarf looked at Evelyn.

She grinned and shook her head.  “No.”

Varric turned to Blackwall.  “I’ll talk to Josephine, I bet she could pull some strings.”

The crunch of plated feet on gravel interrupted the fireside banter.  Cullen nodded at everyone in greeting.

“Inquisitor?” he asked.  “A moment?”

Evelyn nodded.  She got up and followed him to the command tent.

Sera giggled.  “Gotta make time for her Cully-Wully.”

Blackwall bit the insides of his cheeks and rose from his stool.  “Well, big day of marching tomorrow.  Time to turn  in.  Good night.”

Evelyn stooped into the tent.  The flap had barely enough time to fall back into place before Cullen started talking.

“Evelyn.  I fear I have done or said something to upset you, and I wish to fix it, but I don’t know-“

Evelyn shook her head with a sigh.  She sat on a stool by the map table and looked up at him.  “I. . . “  She stopped.  “Look, I know you and Blackwall don’t quite. . . see eye to eye, but I really dislike the way you have rubbed it in.  I’m not a prize to be won.”

“Maker!” Cullen stared at her.  “I-  I never intended. . .  I never thought you a prize.  No.  I respect you.  You are the strongest person I know.  I could never-” He held up his hand and shook himself.  “You are right.  I behaved poorly.  I am sorry.”

Relief flooded through Evelyn.  She admired a man who could admit when he was in the wrong.  “Thank you.”

“Are we- Are there things between us?  I mean, are we good?”  Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

Evelyn could not help but laugh.  He looked like her old scenthound, Buck, when she used to catch him terrorizing the pantry cats.  She rose from the stool.

“We’re fine, Cullen.”

Cullen smiled and stepped toward her.  “Good.  I don’t know what I’d-“  He wrapped his arms around her waist.  “You’ve got to admit, I am the luckiest guy in Thedas.”

Evelyn smiled.  “Flatterer.”

He responded with a kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best edit, I'm sorry, but I wanted to get it posted. I aim to post every Sunday afternoon, and it's getting closer and closer to dinner time. I'll probably edit some things later. Nothing major, but spelling, grammar, repetition. That sort of thing. We'll just think of it as bug patches. ;)


	24. Thank You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Not a chapter, but here's a screenshot of Evelyn.
> 
> I deleted the first chapter and edited the second (now first). I think it works better this way. I never really liked that first chapter, and I think my writing has improved over the course of all of this. I was rusty. I'm starting to feel like the Tin Man after Dorothy oils him up. The first chapter really didn't do the story justice.
> 
> Also, I just want to say thank you. I can't believe I've received over 1000 hits and so many kudos. I truly didn't think I'd get this much attention. This has been a lot of fun, and I hope everyone is enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Thanks again, everyone, for making this random person on the internet feel good.


	25. All That Existed Was Silence

There was no word  
For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky.  
All that existed was silence.

\- Threnodies 5

* * *

 

 

Evelyn walked through the camp outside of the smoking fortress.  The air was clearer amidst the grid of tents.  The wind took the acrid stench of rage demons across to the east and away from the tired Inquisition soldiers.  The reek of the flaming demons always lingered.  Evelyn hated rage demons.  The memory of Maxwell writhing in his plate mail always came to mind.

She had visited the surgeon’s tents earlier and had seen men and women who had suffered the way Maxwell had.  She sat at each of their beds and murmured soothing nonsense to them.  The healers assured her that it was her presence, not her words, that mattered.   She left the wounded after Cole arrived to help.  She was not ready for him to pry at thoughts she barely understood herself.

She nodded at salutes and drooping nods from the soldiers sitting around the cooking fires.  Some cleaned their gear, while others stared into the flames.  She did not blame them.  It had been brutal and hard fought.  Blood magic and demons.  Slaughter.  Betrayal.  She feared sleep.  She did not expect real rest for some time.

The army camp was too quiet. Evelyn did not have much experience with armies, but she would have thought there would be a lot more celebration after a victory.  Though, as she walked through the ranks and saw the soldier’s wary faces, she began to think that it was because of what happened at Haven.  No one wanted to be caught unawares again.

“I’m bettin’ you haven’t eaten.”

Evelyn glanced up and found herself standing in front of Kiall’s fire.  She shook her head at her father’s old hunt master.

“Sit down.  I’ll get you a bowl.”

Evelyn sat down cross legged across the fire from some other hunters.  One was sharpening his dagger, and another tended to a splintered bow.  A third was peeling tubers.

“Here ya are,” Kiall said.

Evelyn took the bread bowl filled with stew with a small smile.  “Thank you.”

Kiall sat down next to her.  “Ugh,” he grunted as he arranged his limbs.  “This body creaks too much.”

“Oh, shut your moanin’,” said the hunter sharpening his dagger.  He shook his head at Evelyn.  “He complains every time he sits down.  Yet when he’s trackin’, he’ll wriggle along on his belly for leagues if he has to.  Don’t let the ol’ codge fool you.”

Evelyn smiled into her bowl.

“An old man is allowed t’have his quirks.”  Kiall frowned.

“Not if we hafta listen to it all of them time.”

Kiall shook his head. “Hope you get more respect from your subordinates than I do.”

“That depends,” Evelyn said around a mouthful.  Solas came to mind.  He refused to speak her after she pardoned the Wardens.

Kiall snorted.  “After today there ain’t a person here who don’t respect you.”

The other hunters nodded.

Evelyn shifted.  “Yeah well, I did what had to be done.”

“You did good, Evie.  Yer father will be proud.  An’ takin’ the Wardens in as allies, that was good, too.  They made a mistake, aye, there’s no doubt about it, but Wardens. . .  We need them.  And this Stroud bloke, he’ll fix ‘em up.”

Evelyn sighed.  “I’m glad you agree, because I know I’m going to have to face some music about that decision.”  She had not seen Varric since she had returned from the Fade.  She closed her eyes.

“Ah.” Kiall mistook her body language and waved a hand in dismissal. “There’s always gonna be complainers.  You did good.  Max can’t keep talkin’ about ya, ya know.  His sister, the Inquisitor and front line fighter.  He’s burstin’ with pride fer ya.”

Evelyn did not respond. 

Kiall patted her shoulder and looked up at the crunch of footsteps.

“Ah, Warden Blackwall,” Kiall said.  The old man got to his feet.  “Let me get you a bowl.”

Blackwall nodded.  “I’d like that.  Thank you.”  He looked down at Evelyn.  “Thought I’d find you here.  May I sit?”

Evelyn nodded.  Blackwall took the spot Kiall just vacated. 

She looked at him and smiled.  “I wanted to thank you,” she said.

Blackwall arched a brow.

“For convincing Clarel.  The wardens.  That was a good speech.”  She watched his face.  She had learned something about Blackwall from the speech.  And all wardens, really.  _I felt like I belonged_ , he’d said.  He had used words like honour and purpose.  Second chances.  The chance to make things right.  They were not evil.  Merely led astray.  That speech was the only thing that had kept her from conscripting the wardens.  It was the sole reason she allowed them to retain their autonomy and remain in Orlais as allies.  It awakened the same feelings she had when she took in the Templars.  They were the same, really.

Blackwall pressed his lips together.  “I did what I had to.”

Kiall snorted.  “What’s with all this ‘did what I had to’ garbage you two keep spoutin’?  Yer both heroes of this battle, and you’ll both be sung about.”

Blackwall took the bowl from Kiall with a nod.  “I don’t need songs.”

“Well, I do.  What else is there to do ‘round the camp fire?  A good song livens things up.”  Kiall went back to his pot and gave it a stir.

Evelyn chuckled.  “I don’t really want to sing songs about myself,” Evelyn said as she held a hand over her mouth as she chewed.

“The songs aren’t fer you t’sing, that’s true.”  Kiall looked at the pair of them.  “Ya gotta find yer own solace.  The rest of us find it in yer deeds.”

Evelyn sighed.  “Well, isn’t that grand.  No pressure.”

Kiall shrugged.  “That’s the way the wind blows.  Comes with the responsibility of bein’ a noble, and Herald, and Inquisitor.  And yer doin’ a good job, Evie.  I’ve got no doubts about you.”  Kiall slid a notched pole under the handle of the large pot.  “C’mon, boys, let’s feed some soldiers.  This camp is too quiet.  Let’s liven it up a bit, ya?  Oy, Jasper, fetch the wagons.  Time to break open those kegs we lugged all the way here.”

Evelyn watched as two of the hunters took hold of each end of the pole and carried it off to the next block of tents.  Kiall followed with a basket of bread slung over his back, leaving Evelyn and Blackwall sitting at the fire alone.  They ate companionably for a while.

“Have you seen Varric?” Evelyn asked when her bowl was nearly empty.

Blackwall nodded.  “He’s upset, but he’ll be fine.  He just needs time.  Don’t beat yourself up over it.  Hawke knew the risks and she accepted the responsibility.  She knew the wardens needed a leader.  She made that decision.  Her death is not your fault.  Varric knows it.”

Evelyn sighed.  If only Hawke’s sacrifice was the only thing weighing on her.  Truth be told, she barely knew Hawke.  She admired her.  The legend.  But her passing was. . .  She sighed again.  The Fade.  That pressed at her more.  The idea of sleep, of dreams, terrified her.

“Wanna talk about it?”  He took a bite of gravy soaked bread.

Evelyn stared into her bowl and shrugged.  What could she say?  There were no words to describe it.  No word existed for it.  She doubted she would ever be able to articulate how it made her feel.  Revulsion.  Terror.  Emptiness.  Silence.  Everything and nothing.  “You were there.”

He nodded.  “Aye.  I was.  Never thought I’d ever be in the Fade like that.  It was. . . unnerving.”

Evelyn laughed without humour.  “Indeed.”  She had read his tombstone in the Fade.  _Himself_.  It read.  His face went pale at the sight of it.  She bit her lip.  What had he done?

His mustache twitched.  “Well, you got your memories back.”

Evelyn smiled at him.  The corners of his eyes crinkled in return.  “That’s looking at a positive,” she said.

“We gotta focus on the good things.  It’s what keeps you going.”  Blackwall pulled a small flask from the pouch at his belt and took a swig.  He held it out to her. 

She took it without hesitation and sipped.  She made a face.  “That’s horrid.”

Blackwall laughed and reached for the flask so he could take another drink.  “Got it from Dorian.  For all his preening, he drinks piss.”

Singing started nearby.  Evelyn recognized Kiall’s baritone.  It was a tavern song she knew well.  She had sung it around many a fire while drinking brandy.  She held out her hand for the flask.

“He’s a good man, that hunter,” Blackwall said as he passed it over.

“One of the best,” agreed Evelyn.  She took a swig and hissed.  She shivered and handed it back to Blackwall.  “He taught me everything I know.”

Blackwall took the flask.  He opened his mouth and then closed it.  He took a long pull of brandy and then tucked the flask back into his pouch.  He scraped his bottom teeth along his mustache and sighed.  “I’m grateful you tracked me when you did.”

Evelyn glanced at him with a slight frown.  She waited.

“As exciting as wandering the woodlands was, this is better.”

She laughed.  “What?  Killing demons and fighting dragons?  I think I prefer the woodlands.”

Blackwall did not smile back.  Instead, he took in a deep breath.  Evelyn arched a brow.  

“It’s good to be a part of something so important.  Something that could change things,” he said.

These words echoed the sentiments of his speech.  What had he done that caused him to grasp at redemption so much?  Her hand was in the air before she realized she was reaching out to him.  She turned it into an awkward stretch and hoped he bought the ruse.   “There is that.  Though, I hope there’s more than just the work keeping you here.”  A quest for personal redemption leads to fanaticism, Solas had spat after her decision.  He had not stayed long enough for her to tell him that she agreed that it was a possible outcome, but not inevitable.  “You need more than work in your life.” 

“Well,” he tilted his head to look at her.  “There’s you, of course.  The Inquisition is nothing without its Herald.  ‘You are who you choose to follow.’  Someone told me that once.”  He ripped a piece of the bread bowl off and dipped it in the stew.  “Took me years to understand what he meant.”  He bit into the bread.

Evelyn glanced in the direction of where the singing was coming from.  “There’s wisdom in that.”

Blackwall swallowed.  “It was a chevalier who said those words to me.  A powerful man, but never without honour.  A true knight.”  He wiped his mustache.  “We met as competitors in the Grand Tourney.  He left me with that advice before we parted.”

“You fought in the Grand Tourney?” 

“Aye.”  He gave a slight nod of his head and squinted into the fire.  “He put aside his own ambitions to help me win the melee.  I don’t think I ever thanked him.”

Evelyn pursed her lips.  “That was generous of him.”

Blackwall nodded. “He said I stood to gain everything, while he’d lose nothing.”  He tore the remainder of his  bread bowl into two.  “When it was over, he offered to mentor me, to teach me to become a chevalier like him.  And I, young and stupid, turned him down flat.”  Blackwall stuffed one of the pieces of bread into his mouth and chewed.  Evelyn waited.  “But I’d just won the melee at the Grand Tourney.”  Blackwall snorted.  “I didn’t need him.”

Blackwall looked at her.  She gave him a small, encouraging smile.  “My life would have been very different if I’d followed him.  I regret that. But-“ he said before Evelyn could speak, “now I believe I made the right decision after all.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You did.”

Evelyn’s face went warm.  She glanced down at her bowl.

“Our paths may never have crossed if I’d gone with the old chevalier.”  Evelyn looked back up at him.  He met her eyes with his own.  “I could never regret this life, not with you in it.”

Evelyn smiled at him and reached for his hand.  “Thank you.”  She gave his hand a squeeze.  “I appreciate that.”

He ran his thumb over the back of her hand before he pulled his hand away.  “Any time, My Lady.”

 

**~*~**

The march back to Skyhold did not take as long as the march to Adamant.  The seriously wounded stayed at the fortress along with half of the siege equipment and a large portion of supplies.  There was a collective cheer throughout the reduced host when Skyhold’s walls appeared in the darkening horizon.

Josephine awaited them on the upper bailey staircase as they rode in through the gates.

“A ball.  To celebrate the victory,” the ambassador chattered.  “The comte de-“

Evelyn held a hand up.  “Ambassador Montilyet.  I trust you to decide on what is best.  Please.  Let me have a bath first.  I’ve got sand in places that-“

“Of course, Your Grace.  Both a bath and a meal are in your quarters.”

“Thank you.”  Evelyn smiled at Josephine and crossed the courtyard to the stairs leading up to the hall.

After a bath and food, Evelyn made her way to Cullen’s tower.  The hall was alive with music and wine.  It took a quarter glass to navigate the revelries and escape.  Torches and lamps lit the courtyard and walls.  The frivolity of the tavern had spilled out into the bailey.  They had arrived too late to have a proper feast, but it seemed everyone was making the most of what night they had left.

Evelyn found Cullen at his desk looking over a pile of parchment.

Evelyn chuckled.  “Do you have some time?”

He looked up at her and sighed.  “Do you have something on your mind?”

“A game of chess?”

Cullen rubbed at the bags under his eyes and shook his head.  “I don’t think I can.  Not tonight.  I’ve got reports to look over.  Tomorrow?”  She understood those dark circles.  She did not have to look in the mirror to know she had her own.  The night time cries had become a common phenomenon throughout the camp as they marched back to Skyhold.

“Josephine’s been planning the ball for tomorrow since she got the raven that we’d taken Adamant.  I don’t think I can play the illness card this time.”

“No.”  Cullen scratched his arm. “Not after what you just managed to pull off.”  He gave a tired chuckle and stretched in his chair.

“Those can wait for the morning.”  She walked over to his desk and sat on the edge.

He slid his hand up her thigh.  She inched closer.  He laughed and stroked the inner line of her quad.  Then he sighed and shook his head.  “If Josephine is throwing a ball, then I won’t have time tomorrow.”

“All work and no play makes for a dull day,” Evelyn sang.

Cullen smiled.  “All play and no work makes for an ill-run army.  Go, enjoy yourself.  I’ll have enough fun tomorrow.”

Evelyn sighed.  “Fine.  Have it your way.  Goodnight, Commander.”  She slid off of the desk and saluted.

Cullen chuckled.  “Goodnight, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn shut the door to Cullen’s tower and leaned against the battlement with a purse of her lips.  She did not feel like joining the festivities in the tavern.  The splitting headache she would get out of it did not appeal to her.  Not if she had to play smiling hostess tomorrow.  And if she went back to the hall no doubt Josephine would waylay her about one thing or another if the stack of papers on her clipboard were any indication.

Evelyn glanced down into the lower bailey.  It was quieter down there with most of the activity near the tavern.  A warm glow came from the barn.  She could make out Blackwall’s silhouette in the doorway.  A quiet evening sounded nice.  She climbed down the stairs from the ramparts to the barn.

Blackwall heard her approach.  He knew it was her from her swaying gait.  His stomach fell down to his feet.  He took a pull from his flask and made a face. 

“Not celebrating?”

He looked up and forced a smile.  She had taken over his dreams.  That night in the camp after taking Adamant. . .  With that brief touch of hands he remembered the feel of her against him.  The feel of her skin beneath his hands.  Memories of why he had fallen for her came flooding back after months of damning them. He did not deserve her.  He could not fall again. He hid from her for the rest of the march.  Made sure he was always busy with something.  She had Cullen.  Let her spend her evenings with him.  While he spent his nights sharing a tent with a grieving dwarf and a ticked off elf. 

Blackwall swallowed.  “There’ll be enough to drink tomorrow.  Besides, I’ve got this,” he waved his flask at her.

She took it and had a drink.  She choked and coughed.  “Ugh!  You got this from Bull, didn’t you?”  She gave her chest a pound and coughed again.

He chuckled.  “You’re already familiar with the stuff, I see.”

Evelyn handed him the flask and made a face.  She cleared her throat.  “After we killed the dragon in the Hinterlands.  Never again.”  She’d spent the entire next day in bed with the drapes closed.

She squatted in front of the fire and Blackwall joined her.  The fire glinted in her pale hair.  Her brow was slightly furrowed and her nose flared like it always did when she was deep in thought.  Blackwall licked his lips.  She had to know the truth.  For all his words about honour and duty, he was nothing but a fraud.  He took another swig from the flask and barely registered the burn as the liquor trickled down his throat.  She deserved to know the truth.

“Evelyn,” he said.

She glanced over at him.  His voice had gone low.

“I hope you can forgive me for pushing you away.”

Evelyn blinked.  “I’m. . . I’m sure you had your reasons.”  She looked away from him and back at the fire.  Why was he bringing this up?  Her stomach clenched.

He shook his head.  “But I can’t just ask you to trust my reasons blindly.”  He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.  “I. . .” He swallowed.  “I owe you an explanation for what I did.  But not here.”

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat.  Her first reaction was to deny that he owed her anything, but anger boiled up from her stomach and spilled up into her chest.  He chose _now_ to say this?  And from the way he stressed the word here, it meant more than just the barn.  He meant away from Skyhold.  He wanted her to go with him to who knows where so he could say he was sorry?  She choked back a snort and slowed her breathing.

“If it’s important to you, than it’s important to me,” she said despite what she felt.

He looked at her.  She saw the relief in his eyes.  She looked away, because she did not trust herself not to yell at him.  His peace of mind.  That was what it was about.  His redemption.  Well, what about hers?  What about her peace?

“Thank you,” he said.

“Goodnight, Blackwall.”

“Goodnight, Inquisitor.”


	26. Explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is filthy. ~~I'm nervous~~.

Evelyn skirted around the table where two sailors arm wrestled, and jostled her way through the cheering on-lookers.  Blackwall waited at an empty table in the corner.  Evelyn broke through the ring of bettors and emerged in front of the bar.  The inn keeper was a large man of middling age with a nose that zigzagged down his face. 

“Got a room?” she shouted over the ruckus.

“Just one.  Second floor. Twelve silver,” he shouted back with a toothless grin.  He glanced over at Blackwall.

She made a face.  He was swindling her, but this was the last inn in the town.  Evelyn sighed.  “We’ll take it.  And we’ll have two ales and two. . .” she peered over his shoulder to look at the scrawled menu on the wall. “Two potato pies and cheese.”  She did not trust the meat here.  The place smelled of brine, sweat, and sour beer.  A barrel collected dripping water by the fireplace.  She fished into her pouch and pulled out some coins.

The inn keeper pocketed the coins and shouted into the kitchen.  Evelyn traced her steps and joined Blackwall.

“They’ve got a room,” she said as she slid onto the bench.

Blackwall grunted.  “I’ve slept in worse.”

The sailors got louder.  Some pounded their tables while others swore.  One of the arm wrestlers jumped up in victory while his shipmates thumped his back.  Money began to change hands as bets were called in.

A buxom young woman arrived with their drinks.  Her chest jiggled above a lightweight corset with each step.  Evelyn glanced around at the other serving girls and noticed that they were all dressed similarly.  One sat on a sailor’s knee while one of his hands fiddled with the lacings of her blouse.    The serving girl set the tankards on their table and hurried to the crowd of men who were now ready to buy another round.

Evelyn pulled her drink over by the handle and peered into the mug.

“Best not to look.  Just drink it, don’t ask questions.”    Blackwall took a swig and shrugged.  “Potato beer.  Not bad.  We’ll fart up a storm later.”

Evelyn smiled and held up her tankard.  “Well, at least we can share the blame.”  She gulped a mouthful down.  The mug was not as greasy as she expected it to be, but was not as clean as she hoped.

A game of dice had begun now that the arm wrestling was finished.  The game was peppered by the odd crash of thunder as the storm raged outside.  There were only two inns in the town.  The nicer one was full up with not even a spot to lay down on the common room floor left.  That left them with the Fisher’s Rest, a dilapidated establishment perched on the edge of the wharf.  Waves crashed into the side of the rotting inn and Evelyn wondered how the building still stood.  Something brushed her foot.  She peered under the table and caught sight of a rat scurrying away with a crust of bread.  She must have made a face, because Blackwall chuckled.

“You can slough through an undead infested swamp, but can’t handle a dockside tavern?”

Evelyn fought the urge to wrinkle her nose.  “We’re eating food here,” she whispered across the table.

Blackwall laughed again and took a pull from his mug.  “I ate two year old hard tack once.  You can’t scrape off the blue anymore.  You just try-“

“Not to look.”  Evelyn looked at her mug.  There was a large chip in the rim.  “Right.”

The walls quaked as a large wave bombarded the tavern.

Blackwall eyed the wall and shrugged.  “Reminds me of when I was out in the Silent Plains.”

Evelyn arched a brow.  “That’s a desert.”

Thunder shook the rafters.  Dislodged dirt pattered across their table from the floorboards above them.

Blackwall nodded.  “It’s pure dust out there.  Fine as ash.  A breeze can choke you for days.  But I was with stout men.  Like Wilifred.  Wet behind the ears, but Maker, he was eager to prove himself.”  Blackwall smiled and took a drink.  He wiped his mustache with the back of his hand.  “We made camp, said we’d have stories once we got back home.  Then the storm blew in.”  Her pursed his lips and shook his head.  “We dug in, expecting sand, but what we got was rain.  Never seen anything like it.  We climbed some rocks, but it was days until the waters went down.  Lost our supplies in the flood.  For a while, I thought we’d end up starving.  Or bashing Wilifred’s head for stew.”

The girl arrived at the table with the pies and cheese.  “No need for that,” she said with a smile at Blackwall.  “A man won’t starve at the Fisher’s Rest.”

“Hey, Sweet Tits, get us another round, eh?” shouted a man from the table next to their booth.

“I’m coming, Ern.  Don’t get your smalls in a bunch.”  She called over her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t mind gettin’ your smalls in a bunch,” he replied.

The serving girl rolled her eyes.  “You still owe from last time.  You know I don’t give rides for free.”

Evelyn coughed into her tankard.  Blackwall laughed.

“Anything else, dear?” The woman winked at Blackwall.

Blackwall glanced at Evelyn and shook his head.  “Another round of beer in a few, perhaps.”

“Will do, honey.”  She left with a trail of sickly sweet perfume.

Evelyn looked up at Blackwall.  “We’re in a whorehouse, aren’t we?”  Flissa was one thing, but this was something else entirely.  It was. . . She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.  Thrilling.  At least until she thought of the state of the beds.  She shivered.

Blackwall’s face darkened.  He licked his lips.  “I forget about your rank sometimes.”

Evelyn frowned.  “My rank?”

Blackwall frowned back.  “You’re a noble.  Dockside doxies aren’t something you would regularly come in contact with.  Perhaps staying here isn’t the wisest choice.  Considering who you are.”

Evelyn shook her head.  She could pull rank and kick the mayor out of his house, but that would mean someone along the line would be out in the storm, and she did not want to be the cause of it.  “No.  No.  This is fine.”  She picked up a pie, closed her eyes, and took a bite.  She opened her eyes in surprise. It was quite good, really.  The pie was loaded with leeks, potatoes and cream. “You still haven’t explained how you didn’t starve in the desert,” she said, before Blackwall could say anything.  He had the look of a man about to argue with her.

He eyed her for a moment and then sighed.  He shook his head and poked at the cheese.  “Wilifred found berries growing on top of the rocks we were stranded on.  It was that or nothing.  An hour later, he started screaming.  We _both_ started screaming.”  He took a small piece of cheese and put it in his mouth. 

“Poison?  And what are you doing with that cheese?”  Evelyn rose her brows as Blackwall rolled the cheese over his tongue.

“Oh, right.  I had a bad experience with tavern cheese in Redcliffe.  I’m always careful now.  This stuff isn’t that bad.”  He cut a chunk off with his belt knife.  “And, err. . .” he chuckled.  “I wouldn’t call it poison.  I was convinced a ring of nugs was singing sea shanties to us for two nights running.”

  
Evelyn guffawed and set her pie down on the tray.  She held her hand to her chest as she tried to swallow the food she had in her mouth.

Blackwall grinned and waited until Evelyn had gathered herself back together.   He took a drink.  “We woke up three days later.  No armor.  Surrounded by hungry ghasts.”

“How did you escape?”

“You’d be surprised what a man armed with a rock and a headache can do.”  Blackwall took a bite of cheese.

“Anyone else?”

He nodded and reached for his mug.  “Most of us did.  But Wilifred.  Damn fool survived a flood, a bout of madness, ghasts, even a wyvern that stalked us halfway out of that wasteland. . .”  He took a drink and shook his head.  “A day out from civilization, he did the stupidest thing you can do in a desert.”

Evelyn picked her pie back up.  “What’s that?”

“Tried to steal someone’s water while he was sleeping.”

“Oh.”  Evelyn nibbled at the pie crust.  “I can see that.”

“Maker help us, we left the idiot bastard’s bones where they lay.”  He shook his head.  “Took a week with the bounciest doxy in Hunter Fell to put the desert from my mind.”

Evelyn laughed.  “Emmerson and I ate wild mushrooms once.”

“I smell a story,” Blackwall said.  She had a small crumb on the corner of her lip.  He watched her tongue flick out to catch it.  She grinned.  Maker, her whole face lit up when she smiled.  Blackwall looked away.  No.  _Do not get caught up in that, man_.

“We were about fifteen or so,” she said.  “We’d gone out, just the two of us, for an overnight camping trip.  Mother was visiting friends in Starkhaven at the time, and father was doing rounds of the outlying farms.  Henry was already gone to the Templars, which meant Maxwell was in charge.  The only reason Emmerson and I were allowed to go.”  Evelyn grinned.  “I’d smuggled out a bottle of peach brandy with us.”  She made a face.  “Anyway, Emmerson saw these mushrooms during our hike, and he swore up and down that they were the same kind Kiall put in stew during hunts.  Between the brandy and those mushrooms we had a night.”

“What happened?” asked Blackwall between mouthfuls of cheese.

Evelyn snorted.  “Oh, only the Maker knows.  I woke up naked in a stream.  Face up, thankfully.  Surprised I didn’t drown.  Emmerson had dug himself a little hole in some tree roots.  Made a little nest.”  She laughed.  “Maker, he was filthy.”

Blackwall chuckled and shook his head.  “Ah!  Just what we needed,” he said when the second round of drinks arrived.

**~*~**

Blackwall closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the moans and grunts coming from either side of him.  Their room consisted of a curtained off area of the attic wide enough for only a single cot.  Evelyn had been good-natured about the whole thing and shared the cot with him without complaining.  They both lay on their sides, with her ass nestled against his groin.  It was the only way the both of them fit.

“Yeah, that’s right, honey, fuck my wet cunny,” hissed a whore in the sectioned off area behind him.  He could feel the curtain ripple on his back.

Blackwall bit the inside of his cheek.  This was an awful idea.  All of it.  Not just being in a whorehouse with the Herald of Andraste, and Maker, that was bad enough, but being _here,_ in the Storm Coast.  What had he been thinking when he asked her to come with him?  She was the Inquisitor.  She was nobility.  He was. . .  He was nobody.  A murderer.  A liar.  He had no right. . . This was a mistake.

“Let me see those tits, girl.  Rub those on my-“ The sailor cut himself off with a groan.

Evelyn shifted her weight and Blackwall squeezed his eyes as she rubbed against him.  Maker, she needed to stay still or things were about to get more awkward than they already were.

Wet suction sounds started from the couple on the other side of Evelyn.  Blackwall felt Evelyn’s breathing get heavier as her ribs expanded with each inhale.  His hand was falling forward, off of his leg.  He snatched it back before it fell to her hip.  He ground his molars together.  He was not going to get any sleep tonight.

Evelyn tried to slow her heartbeat by taking in deep, slow breaths.  She would be laughing if she was not painfully aware of Blackwall’s growing excitement.  If she had been in this situation with anyone else she would be doubled over in stitches, but with Blackwall all she thought of was that afternoon outside of Haven.  She knew exactly how he felt as he slid in and out of her.  She squirmed.  Blackwall cursed under his breath.  Evelyn closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow down. 

Cullen.  Her stomach dropped as his face came to mind. Her eyes flew open in the dim lighting of the attic. She could see the silhouette of a whore riding a sailor through the curtain in front of her. Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut with a small hiss.  She made a mistake.  She was going to hurt him.  She made a mistake.  Maker. . .  She swallowed.

She had to talk to Cullen when she got back.  This. . .  Oh, it was going to be horrible.

A whore cried out from across the room.  Blackwall’s cock grew firmer against her.  Her own loins tingled and her inner walls convulsed.  What she would give to reach behind her. . .  She cut that thought off quickly and clenched her jaw.

Maker, this was going to be a long night.

**~*~**

They left the tavern as soon as the storm subsided into the usual Storm Coast drizzle.  The sun had not risen, and most everyone was still asleep when they tiptoed out of the place.  Neither one of them spoke until the end of their midday break.

“How much farther?” Evelyn asked as she tightened the buckle on her pack.

“Few hours,” he said.

Despite the chill, Blackwall was sweating.  When the roar of water pounding on the roof stopped he had been filled with a mixture of both relief and dread.  Every moment brought them closer to the ridge where his lie began.  His stomach roiled. 

“Oh!” Evelyn wrinkled her face.  “You weren’t lying about potato beer.  Ugh.  I just grossed myself out.”

Blackwall looked up and blinked.  “What?  Oh, right, yeah.  They’re stinkers.”

“Maker, that’s rancid.”  Evelyn hoisted her pack onto her back.  “Lead the way, and quickly.”

Blackwall nodded and set out.  Evelyn took their farting as an ice breaker and began to chatter.   Her lopsided grins and vibrant laughter picked away at his armor, and by the time they approached the ridge his resolve was bolstered.

“It’s so quiet now,” he said.  “I remember when it wasn’t.  I came here with another Warden.  We were ambushed.  I tried to save him, but he died.”  He furrowed his brows and kept on walking.

Evelyn shook her head and grabbed at his arm.  He looked down and found her staring at him.  “Look, I understand that a Warden’s life is full of death and danger, but so’s mine.”

Blackwall stopped himself from touching her.  He pulled his arm from her grasp and turned away.  “It’s not that.  It’s not about just dying or danger.  His death was different.  It changed me.”  He heard her walk toward him.  He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.  “Let’s go over there,” he said.

He saw the badge the moment they crested the ridge.  He bent down and pulled it out of the weeds and frowned at it.  He took in a deep breath.

“The Warden-Constable’s badge,” he said as Evelyn approached him.  He swallowed.

“You mean your badge,” she said from his shoulder.

Blackwall’s stomach flipped and he clenched his jaw.  His nerve washed away with the storm.  He could not do this.  She was beyond him.  He had no right. . .

“I suppose it must be,” he said.  He fell back into the lie as if he were putting on a favourite coat.  “After all, I did earn it.  I shouldn’t have let it go so easily.”  He closed his eyes.  With a deep breath, he took a few steps away from her.

“This was my life before I met you,” he said, turning around to face her.  He waved his arms at the ridge.  Skeletons littered the grass.  “Crumbling ruins.  Endless battles.  Death.”

Evelyn frowned.  This whole trip was confusing.  He brought her here.  It was a place she recognized.  They had been here before when looking for signs of warden activity.  Why? 

She sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “You know,” she bit her bottom lip and took in a deep breath.  “I’ve seen my fair share of ruins and death too.” She tried to catch his eye, but his attention was focused on the badge.  His mouth twitched.   “Maybe that means we’re perfect for each other.”

Blackwall’s breath caught and his heart raced.  He looked up at her.  “You tease.”  He held his breath and shook his head.  “But, there’s nothing more for me here.  We can talk back at Skyhold and I. . .” He frowned at her and started to turn away.  “I have to think.”

“Blackwall.”

Blackwall licked his lips and paused.  He lifted his gaze and met hers with a start.  She stood close to him.  He could smell that light citrus scent she had started wearing.

“Maker,” he whispered as she stepped forward. “I. . .” His hands slid around her waist just as both of her arms wrapped around his neck.  “Evelyn.” He breathed.  His head moved downward to meet hers.  This was too good to be true.  What did she see in him?  She did not know.  He was a liar.  He just. . .  “We shouldn’t. . .  What about the Commander?”

Evelyn stopped.  Her arms dropped to her sides and she stepped back from Blackwall’s hands.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have. . .”  She turned away.

Blackwall forced himself away from her and started back down the path.  “There’s an Inquisition camp not too far,” he said.  “We can make it before dark.”

Evelyn ran a hand through her hair and followed.  She prayed there was a scouting team they could travel back to Skyhold with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late. I'm sorry. I had four tests last week and went away for the long weekend as it was my birthday on the holiday. Wrote another test this morning. School comes first.
> 
> I got to use my favourite Blackwall dialogue. I'm excited about that.
> 
> And my husband was concerned about the filth level, not because he thinks it's wrong, but because he wasn't sure it fit the story. I think so, because while Blackwall is trying to redeem himself, he's still got a past. And he talks about whores a lot. He's a regular ol' soldier, not a knight or templar. Thoughts?


	27. Regret

Blackwall set the chisel on the workbench and sighed.  His focus kept shifting to what he suspected was going on in Cullen’s tower.

The trip back to Skyhold had been a silent one.  They shared the one tent, but never at the same time.  One of them was always on watch.  Evelyn had spent most of their down time hunting, while he dug the jacks and chopped firewood.  During the day they kept to their own thoughts and avoided each other’s eyes.  When they did happen to make eye contact, it was as if one of Vivienne’s lightning bolts circuited through them.  They would stand there, staring, until one of them spun on their heel and broke the connection.

Never had he felt for a woman the way he did for her.  He wanted to have her in his arms at all times.  He wanted to smell her hair and feel her skin.  He wanted to spend hours with her, laughing by the fire.  She was strong.  Intelligent.  Decisive. Resilient.

Blackwall scratched his beard and glanced out the barn doors to the tower.  Evelyn had entered the commander’s office only a moment ago.  He watched when she came out of the rotunda and dragged her feet along the inner rampart.  She stopped in front of the door and stood there for a moment or two before she squared her shoulders and pushed it open.

He gritted his teeth.  That woman.  The moment she came striding over to him at Lake Luthias he knew she was something special.  She was direct and to the point.  Her companions followed her without question.  She was a woman people respected.  And then that afternoon in Haven.  Maker, the way she felt when she tightened around him.  Those little moans that escaped her throat had sent shivers down his spine.  And the way she arched her back and panted as he slammed his cock into her. . .  He gave himself a shake.

He needed a drink.

The tavern was full.  It had been most days since Adamant.  It was a hard place to forget.  Blood magic had a way of sticking in the brain.  Blackwall scowled.  Occasionally there’d be one or two wardens in the tavern, but it looked to be clear of them at the moment.  It was early.  They tended to come later in the evening.  Thankfully they were camped in the valley where the Templars were before Evelyn ordered the large tower be converted into a barracks. 

More than once he’d considered walking down there and giving himself up to them, but just like he had in the Storm Coast, he choked.  He was a coward.  A yellow bellied coward.  He worked his jaw and went up to the second floor where he found a chair next to a barrel in the corner.

“Oh, Grey Warden.  What have you done?” Maryden’s voice carried up to the second floor.  It had not taken her long to write her new song.  He wondered why anyone listened to it.  No one needed to be reminded of what they had all witnessed at the Grey Warden's stronghold.  Let her play it it in the hall for the visiting nobility.  Leave the rest of them in peace.

"What have you done?" came the refrain again.

Blackwall flared his nostrils.  _You don’t want to know_.

A tankard appeared on the barrel next to him.  Blackwall looked up from the minstrel to see Varric pulling up a chair.

“Let’s talk about your dark and troubled past,” he said as he sat down.

Blackwall narrowed his eyes.  “Excuse me?”

“Well, you have one, of course.  Someone dear to you?  Someone you’ve failed to save?  Or a grave error in judgment, causing too many deaths?”  Varric leaned back in his chair and crossed a leg over his knee.  “I’ve known a couple of people like that.  Ooh, maybe betrayal!”  Varric snapped his fingers.  “That’s always good.”

“No.”  Blackwall planned on drinking that mug of ale, but he was not going to participate in the dwarf’s games.

“Well you’ve got to give me something.”

“No, I don’t.  This conversation is over.”

“Hm, touchy.”  Varric stroked his chin.

“Don’t push me, dwarf.  I’m not in the mood,” Blackwall growled.

“Easy now, Hero.  This black cloud doesn’t have something to do with our illustrious Herald, does it?”

Blackwall picked up the tankard and took a drink.

Varric shook his head.  “Look, it’s obvious the pair of you hold a candle for each other.  Talk to her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Well,” Varric chuckled, “you two certainly haven’t made it easy.  The only thing I can think of that’s holding you back is your past.”

Blackwall winced.  “I told you-“

“Alright.  Alright.”  Varric shook his head.  “Still think you should go talk to her.”

 “I’m not getting rid of you, am I?” Blackwall sighed. 

“How do you like being described?  As ‘grizzled’, or ‘masculine’?”

Blackwall scowled into his mug.  “Do I really have a choice?”

Varric grinned.  “No, I was just being polite.  Going with ‘grizzled’ then.”

**~*~**

Evelyn swallowed the bile in her throat and gave herself a shake.  She could do this.  She had to do this.  Her stomach roiled and she swallowed hard.  Why had she let this happen in the first place?  _Stupid_.  _Stupid_.  _Stupid_.  She closed her eyes and breathed slowly.  _Maker, what have I done?_ Her feet felt rooted in place.  She could face a dragon, no problem, but this. . .  She could not.  _Yes, you can. Face him, Trevelyan._

She rolled her shoulders back and pushed open the door of Cullen’s tower.

“Rylen’s men will monitor the situation.”  Cullen leaned on his desk. 

“Yes sir, we’ll begin with preparations at once,” said a soldier.

“In the meantime,” said Cullen as he signed an order, “we’ll send soldiers to-“  He looked up from the clipboard and spotted Evelyn.  She smiled awkwardly. Maybe now was not the best time.  “Assist with the relief effort.  That will be all.”

The soldiers saluted and left the tower.  Cullen followed them and shut the door firmly behind them.

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” He leaned both hands on the door and stared at the ground.

Evelyn swallowed again.  “The Inquisition won’t rest,” she said.  “Even if we may want to.”

“I’ve not lost sight of what’s at stake,” he said.  He pushed himself upright.  “This war won’t last forever.  When it started I. . .  Well, I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival.”  He glanced at her.  “Things are different now.”

Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek.  “What do you mean?”

“I find myself wondering what will happen after this is over.  I don’t want to move on, not from you.”  He stepped toward her and caressed her cheek with a gloved hand. 

Evelyn’s stomach sank.  He was serious.  Maker, no, not this. 

He turned away from her and rubbed his neck.  “I- I don’t know what you- That is, if you, um. . .”  He looked at her with hope filled eyes.

 _Oh Maker.  He needs to stop.  Stop him, Evelyn.  Stop him right now._  

“I’d rather we were friends,” she blurted.

He stared at her.  She swallowed.

“I should have said something before.”  She stepped toward him.  “I hope it’s not too late.”

Cullen was silent.  He started toward the door.

Pressure began to build behind her eyes.  Evelyn blinked.  “I’m sorry.  I-“

The door closed behind him.

“I was wrong,” she whispered.  She let out a long slow breath and ran her fingers under her eyes.

He truly cared about her.  She leaned against Cullen’s desk and closed her eyes.  If she’d wanted a rebound she should have gone to Bull, not to the man who had the same amount of scars she did.  _Oh Evelyn, you’ve fucked up_.

The door Cullen had exited flew open.  It crashed against the stone door frame and Cullen slammed it back open with the palm of his hand when it bounced back to him.

“Did you even care?  At all?” he demanded from the doorway.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at him.  “I do care,” she said.  “But I was selfish.   I’m so sorry, Cullen.  I was upset and I wanted a pair of arms to hold me, and you were there and. . .  It got out of hand.”  Her shoulders slumped.  “I’m sorry.”

Cullen ran a hand down his face.  “Blackwall,” he said, his voice quiet.  He snorted.  “I knew it was too good to be true.  I thought. . .” He shook his head.  “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

She rubbed a knuckle under the corner of her eye.

Cullen sighed.  “If you’ll excuse me, there’s much to do.  I should return to my work.”

“Oh.  Right.”  She straightened.  “Cullen, I-“

“Please, Inquisitor.” He pressed his lips together.

Evelyn nodded.  Cullen stood behind his desk, his eyes directed at a pile of reports.  She licked her lips, nodded again, and left his tower as swiftly as she could without running.  She leaned forward on the inner battlement and closed her eyes in the cool breeze.  It was done.  But she did not feel relieved.  She took in a deep breath and opened her eyes on the exhale.  She could see Bull in the training yard bellowing at Krem.  She made her way down the stairs to the upper bailey and wandered over.

“Hey Boss,” Bull called when he saw her.  “Krem!  Get that shield up!  Grim, keep hitting him.  Maybe he’ll learn a lesson.”

“Got anything else to work out?”  Evelyn asked him.

Bull’s brow shot upward.  “Didn’t think you were into that.”

“What?  Oh, no.  I was talking about the stick.  I could hit you with that stick again.”

Bull narrowed his eye and gave her a good look over.  “You look like shit, Boss.  I could help you with that.”

Evelyn sighed.  “You were the wrong person to come to.”  She held up a hand when he grinned.  “Pretend I never said that.”

Bull chuckled.  “Don’t you usually talk to Dorian about this sort of thing?”  He glanced up at the commander’s tower.

Evelyn shook her head.  “Can’t about this.  Hairy lummox, remember?”

“Krem!  Shield!”  Bull sighed and shook his head.  “Look, Boss, you did what you needed to do.  Now you’re feeling bad about it.  You gotta deal with that.  Nothing I can say will help you with that.”

“Right.  No stick?”

“Naw, I’m good.  My offer still stands.”

“I’ll pass.”  She sighed again.

Bull shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”

“Inquisitor!” called a servant as he crossed the courtyard.  “The Lady Ambassador would like to see you, Your Worship.”

Evelyn nodded.  _The Inquisition won’t rest, even if we may want to._   “Tell her I’ll see her in my quarters in a half glass.  I have some reports to see to first.”   _But I'll grasp at moments when I can._

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said with a bow.


	28. Basse Danse

 

Evelyn pushed back her chair from the desk and ran a hand through her hair.  The pile of reports were now read, signed, and neatly stacked in the basket on the floor by the desk.  She sighed into her hands and closed her eyes.  Anabelle and Minuet would be bustling up the stairs any moment now. 

She wished they wouldn’t.

Bann Vigard of Ferelden was visiting and Josephine had a feast organized for tonight.  It was only four days since yet another ball, but the Inquisition’s success at Adamant had propelled the heretical organization into giddy heights of popularity.  Visitors had been arriving by the score.  It seemed like there was a feast planned in honour of some dignitary or other every night for the next fortnight.  Josephine had begun sending seamstresses up to Evelyn’s quarters in the mornings.  Evelyn now had more clothes than she had ever had in her life.  She had no idea people could sew that fast.  A fact her mother no doubt would chide her for not knowing.  If she had paid more attention to sewing lessons like a proper girl. . .  Evelyn shook her head.  She did not need to imagine her mother’s sharp tongue.  Not now.

Dark circles framed her eyes.  Memories of Adamant coupled with her restored memories made sleep nigh impossible.  Add the mess she had made of her personal life and she spent her nights staring at the ceiling rebuking herself.  Cullen was civil and professional.  She did not expect anything less.  She deserved far worse than that.  If she had never met Blackwall things would have been different.  She sighed again and opened her eyes.

Blackwall.  He was avoiding her too, and she daren’t go to him, not so soon after talking to Cullen.  She had hurt him enough, she did not want to rub salt in his wounds.  It was a mess.  A stinking mess.  Maxwell merely laughed when she moaned about it.  He was happy to have a string of women following him around.  He had always been a ladies’ man, much to their father’s chagrin and coin purse.  It had been a bit of a relief when Maxwell had gone to the Templars.

And that was the problem, really.  She spent most of her time with common men.  Hunters.  Soldiers.  They were not looking to marry the Bann’s daughter, just have a little fun.  And if she was discreet about her relationships no one cared.  But not all men were like that.  Cullen was not like that.  She had taken advantage of him.  She pressed her lips together.

She jolted when the door at the bottom of her stairs opened.  She sighed.  The velvet brigade had arrived.  She rose from her chair and moved over to the wardrobe where she shed her robe in preparation.  The gold silk had already been chosen for her yesterday, though Evelyn doubted it would do much for her pale complexion.

 “Did they press the gold silk?” asked Anabelle as she hustled into the room.  She set her box of cosmetics and trinkets on the desk.

“Yes,” Evelyn said with a mental shake.  “A girl brought it up this afternoon.”

“Good.  Minuet, dress Her Grace, while I get things in order over here.”

The gold silk clung to her like a second skin.  Evelyn stared at her reflection.  She could see the outlines of every muscle and curve.

“Is this appropriate?” she asked as Minuet laced the back.

Anabelle looked up from the pink paste she was mixing and smiled.  “You wear tight fitting leathers every day, Your Worship.  There is no difference.”

“Yes, well, my breasts aren’t quite this. . . exposed every day.”  The draped neckline folded downward in a wide arc.  The fabric hung precariously on the far edges of her shoulders and tapered into fitted long sleeves.

“As you requested, a stole was made to match, Your Grace.”  Minuet produced a fur stole lined in the same gold silk.  Evelyn draped it over her shoulders in relief.

Anabelle dabbed rouge on her cheeks and lips, and managed to get kohl on one eye before Evelyn realized what was happening.  With a sigh she consented for the other eye to match.  Minuet sprayed the rose-citrus perfume on both sides of Evelyn’s neck and the inside of each wrist.  A golden circlet with a web of dangling pearls was set into her hair which had been swept to the side with a pearl encrusted comb.  Gold, fur-lined slippers completed the ensemble.

Evelyn looked into the mirror again and made a face.  She felt ridiculous.  Only Josephine could pull off this much gold.  She was Antivan, after all.  She had the skin tone for it.  Not to mention Antivans liked this sort of thing.  Evelyn suppressed a laugh.   But Free Marchers? Red if they wanted to make a statement.  Maybe gold trim if you were the Viscount of Kirkwall or. . . Varric.

“You don’t like it?” Anabelle fretted with the placement of the stole.

“I look like. . . A gaudy statue of Andraste.”

Anabelle clucked her tongue with a hiss while Minuet hid her face in her shoulder.

“There is this, Your Worship,” Anabelle said with a frown.  She pulled a golden cloak trimmed with the matching striped fur of the stole.

Evelyn eyed the thing sidelong and wrinkled her nose.  Anabelle huffed and motioned for Evelyn to duck her head.  Evelyn exhaled quickly and bent a bit at the knees.  The lady-in-waiting brought the golden chain over Evelyn’s head and began to settle the cloak around her shoulders.

The cloak was heavy, but the chain and the large bronze medallion of the Inquisition eye hanging down the front counteracted the pull.

Evelyn shook her head.  “A chain of office?  Really?  No.  No.  The stole is enough.  Get this off.”

“Your Grace, it is customary for-“

Evelyn cut Anabelle off by waving her hand.  “No.  This is ridiculous.  The dress is ridiculous enough without this.  Who dresses in this much gold silk?”

“There is the velvet-“

Anabelle shot Minuet a glare.  “Fine.  No cloak.”

Anabelle would have ripped the cloak from Evelyn’s shoulders if it would not have mussed her hair.  She glared at her the entire time.  Evelyn snorted.

“You look beautiful, Your Worship,” Minuet said quietly.

Anabelle sniffed.

Evelyn scrunched her face.  She looked. . .  Tarted up.  The kohl reminded her of the girls at the Fisher’s Rest.  As soon as that thought emerged she thought of Blackwall.  The press of his growing length against her while they listened to the whores at work had been one of the most exciting, yet frustrating, nights of her life.  Her face went warm and she shook her head to clear those thoughts.  Pearls clacked against each other with the motion.

“Your Grace?” Minuet asked with a step forward.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said.  “This will be the last time I wear this dress.  Please, in the future I ask that you stick to dresses like that samite one.  Or I will swear off gowns altogether.  Is that understood?”  She met Anabelle’s eyes through the mirror.  The woman nodded slowly before scowling down at the cloak.  “I’m glad we are on the same page.  Goodnight, ladies.”

The two curtsied, if Minuet a little faster than Anabelle, and quickly packed up their kit before they left.

Evelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath when she heard the door close behind them.   She felt nude in this dress.  A thin layer of silk was the only thing that separated her body from view, and with the way it fell on her, it hid little.  The last thing she wanted was more attention to her person.  As Inquisitor, sure, that role was just that, a role.  It was something she slipped over herself like that tacky cloak.  But when people started looking at her as a woman, that’s when the problems began.  She sighed.  There was something to be said about that red uniform.  If she could get another made in a different fabric so it would not itch. . . 

Her role was functional, not pretty.  She went out there and did what no one else could, or would.

 _Crumbling ruins.  Endless battle.  Death_. 

She stared at the silly looking woman in the mirror and shook her head.  This, this was not her.

She glanced at the wardrobe and then at the glass on her desk.  She would be pushing it.  With a nod, she turned in the mirror and craned her neck over her shoulder to see where the lacing for the back of the dress was.  Just as she had fished the ends of the ribbon out from where they were tucked out of sight Josephine’s voice called from the base of the stairs.

“Your Worship?  Dinner is to be served.  The guests wait your arrival.”

Evelyn scowled and tucked the ends back in.  She turned to face Josephine just as the ambassador stepped up into the room.

“You look stun-  You are unhappy.”

Evelyn shook her head.  “Never again.  I want that red uniform made out of some different material.  The wool itches.  Velvet, maybe?  I’ll wear that in the future.  This is not fit for the Inquisitor.  I’m a. . . A peer, not a courtesan.”

Josephine took a brief pause that Evelyn knew meant she was gathering her thoughts.  “You do not look like a courtesan, Your Grace.  I would never have approved something that would bring shame upon your name.  Indeed, I will have the seamstresses work on a new uniform for you, but until then, the gowns that were made will have to do.”

Evelyn scrutinized the ambassador with narrowed eyes.  New clothes kept appearing in her wardrobe everyday.  She knew how fast those women could work.  “And tell Anabelle no more cosmetics.”  She looked back to the mirror and peered closely at her eyes.  They appeared artificially wide with the kohl outline.  They were already big enough.  She looked grotesque.

“I will speak with Anabelle, Your Grace.”

“See that you do,” she said with one last frown at her reflection.  “Lead the way, Ambassador.  Let’s get this over with.  The sooner I can get this thing off me, the better.”

Josephine pursed her lips.  “Your Worship, Bann Vigard travelled all the way here with his family from Ferelden.  It would be wise to-“

“Don’t worry, Josephine.  The second I step into the hall I’ll be the perfect picture of nobility.  I’ll smile and nod when necessary.  I’ll hold my head high and even throw in a bit of haughtiness for good measure.  I’ll channel my mother, Maker bless her.”

Josephine sighed and shook her head.  “Very well.”

As usual, Josephine went into the hall first.  Evelyn dutifully counted to a hundred before she stepped through.

“Her Grace, Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan,” announced the herald.

The hall quieted and everyone rose to bow, curtsey, or salute hand over heart in acknowledgement of her arrival.  She smiled graciously and nodded at those assembled.  The hall was full tonight, and warm.  She resisted the urge to fuss with the fur stole.

Her throne had been pushed back to make room for the long table.  A barrel-chested man sat to the left of the center chair with a wispy haired woman to his own left.  Evelyn assumed they were the Bann Vigard and his wife.  Evelyn sat when a footman pulled her chair out for her.  The seat at her right was empty, but Leliana sat one over.  Cassandra was seated at the end.  Evelyn looked about for Maxwell and saw him seated down with the rest of the Inquisition and guests.  Henry sat next to him and appeared to be laughing at something Blackwall was saying.  Her stomach clenched.  Henry was back, then.  She had hoped he had gone back to the Ostwick circle after leaving with Knight-Commander Barris.  She quickly looked away before he noticed her gaze, and smiled at the page who filled her glass with watered wine.

Just as four footmen carried the large roast boar to a chorus of cheers into the center of the room, Cullen slipped into the hall from the war room and slid into his chair next to her.

“I extend my apologies, for I am late.  There were reports I had to attend to.”  He leaned back to allow the page to fill his glass.

She glanced at him and forced a smile.  She still felt awkward around the Commander.  Conversation was stiff and formal between them.

“Please, excuse me, Bann Vigard,” he said with a nod to the beaming man.

“Not at all.  Duty comes before pleasure, I’ve always said.”

His wife snorted.

Evelyn hid a smile by taking a sip of her wine.  Cullen shifted in his chair.

“I hear you are from Fereldan, Commander,” the Bann said.

Cullen nodded.  “Yes.  Honnleath.”

“Honnleath,” the Bann said.  He furrowed his brows in thought.  “I did not think there was a seat there.”

Cullen cleared his throat.  “There isn’t.”

“Ah.  I see,” said the Bann.  He smiled blandly and turned his attention to his wine.

Evelyn frowned.  “The Commander,” she emphasized the word just enough to make her point, “was Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Circle.”

“Indeed,” Vigard said with a start.  He eyed Cullen.  “I have no doubt of the Commander’s abilities.  He was successful with that nasty Warden business.  Good work.”

Cullen choked.  “Yes, well. . .  Thank you.”  He cast a glance at Evelyn who smiled into her goblet.

Evelyn ate her fill of roasted boar, stewed leeks with apples, and her favourite, sautéed embrium with cream sauce.  All the while she half listened to Vigard’s prattle about his castle’s fortifications.  She let Cullen answer the man’s questions concerning Skyhold while she avoided looking at the gravy glistening in his mustache.  A page lingered near and kept both her own and Cullen’s glasses full.  The page spent more time at Cullen’s elbow than her own, Evelyn noted.

Vigard was lecturing them on the art of unit formation when the tables were cleared and Maryden, accompanied by a minstrel the Bann had brought with him, began to play a slow basse danse.  Cullen nearly jumped from his chair.

“Lady Inquisitor,” he said, “may I have this dance?”  He held his hand out to her.              

Evelyn swallowed the wine in her mouth and looked up at him.  He gave her a look that shouted _get me out of here_ so loudly that she set her glass down with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary.  Out of all the ways he could get out of listening to Vigard’s monologue he chose a basse danse?  From the corner of her eye she could see more than one head in the hall turned their way.  With a slow breath she smiled and put her hand in his.  He led her around the table and stopped when they stepped into the center of the hall.

 

Cullen simply could not take it any longer.  If he had to listen to one more suggestion on how to run the Inquisition’s army he was going to reach over Evelyn and throttle the Ferelden lord.  When the basse danse began he did not even think, he simply stood up and asked Evelyn to dance.  It was not until his hand was extended and she stared up at him with those pools for eyes that he realized what he had just done.  He swallowed, and desperately hoped she would play along now that the entire Inquisition was watching.

He blamed her gown and whoever had dressed her, for she certainly had not dressed herself.  She would be seated here in hunting leathers if she had a choice.  All eyes had been glued on Evelyn during dinner.  Her gown glowed in the candlelight and reflected up to her face giving it a burnished sheen.  She was a picture of Andraste herself.  From where he was seated he could see the outline of her thigh; the place he had touched her only days ago.  If only he had gone with her instead of reading reports.  He would have had time to complete them in the morning, ball or no ball.  Maker, she could have helped with them.  Over half of the reports had been copies of what had been sent to her first.  Half of the remainder he had to forward on to her anyway.  He’d been a fool.

He found himself gripping his goblet throughout dinner.  The page boy’s name was Theodore, he learned.  He was a good kid.  He made a point of watching for him at practice.

And then that Bann, Vigard.  Cullen answered the bore’s questions as succinctly as he could.  Evelyn was no help.  She sat quiet and still, and tried hard to look entertained.  She did not fool Cullen.  He saw her near eye rolls and the smiles she thought she hid in her cup.  She stood up for him at the beginning, he admitted.  He’d smiled when she enunciated his title just a little too well for polite company.

The woman would be the death of him.  He’d known Blackwall had her the moment he arrived in Haven.  He spotted the glances the two of them made to each other as they rode, flushed with success, back to the village.  He had not needed Cassandra’s off-hand comments about how well Evelyn and the warden got along.  He already saw.

But then!  She sent him away.  Cullen still did not know what happened between the two, but he saw his chance.  And it had been wonderful.  His heart soared and his chest felt too small to contain the happiness of having her in his arms.

Blackwall came back.          

Again, Cullen knew. 

He’d watched from the ramparts when they met in the lower bailey.  He saw the pained look of longing on each of their faces. 

She would never be his.

All evening he sat next to her while she wore a tantalizing gown where every movement was showcased with a golden gleam.  Theodore kept his glass full, for which he was grateful.

And then here he was with her hand in his own, and there they were gliding across the floor in a series of stately steps and bows and curtsies.   She was as graceful on the dance floor as she was in combat.  Her hand was warm and soft in his.

_Maker, why did I-_

“I have to admit, I am surprised,” Evelyn said as he pulled her toward him in a slow turn.

Cullen licked his dry lips. 

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” she said.

They parted and did a mirrored parade down the length of the hall.

“I would be lying if I said I was not hurt,” he said as they met near the grand entrance.  “I care for you.”  He took her hand in his and they began the same sequence of steps and turns toward the dais.  “I think of you at all hours.”  His hand went to her waist and he picked her up for a small jump more in line with a lavolta than a basse danse.  “I wake up and you’re in my thoughts.”  They stepped away, she curtsied, and they stepped back together.  “I go to bed and you’re in my dreams.”

Another coupled stepped onto the dance floor.

Cullen gave them little notice.  “And I will forever regret not getting up from my work and coming up here with you when you asked,” he whispered into her ear.  “You did not want to play chess, did you?” 

Evelyn swallowed and stepped away.  She curtsied to the side of the hall at a group of onlookers, and stepped back to him.  Her eyes sparkled in the light of the chandelier.

“Do you know what I regret?”

“What do you regret?” she asked in a half croak, half whisper.

The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked.

“Not spending a night with you.”

Her face was flushed, and her chest was pink.  He took in the wonder of her.

They stepped together for another turn.

“Spend the night with me,” he rasped.

Her thin stole which did nothing to hide the roundness of her breasts rose up and down with each of her breaths.

They did another turn, and she curtsied.  He bowed, and the song concluded.

 

 


	29. Culmination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut.

Maker, he could be compelling when he wanted to be.

Evelyn ripped her attention away from the commander’s eyes and nearly wept for joy when Maxwell appeared in front of her with a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

“Excuse me, Commander, but I’m claiming family priority.”  He took Evelyn’s hand from Cullen’s and whisked her away to his table.

Evelyn hesitated.  Henry, Varric and Blackwall seemed to be having a heated debate about something.

“Don’t worry,” Maxwell whispered as he guided her over.  “Henry’s on his best behaviour.”

“Winning while barely clinging to your horse may count,” Blackwall was saying with a shake of his head as brother and sister approached, “but it’s not exactly the stuff of legend, is it?”

Varric grinned.  “That depends on who’s writing the legend, Hero.”

Henry waved a hand at Varric.  “I’m with Blackwall here.  You can’t really think Reeve Asa is a better knight than Honorine Chastain.  Her record’s flawless.”

Blackwall nodded.  “Four hundred jousts!” He slapped his thigh.  “Never unseated.  No one’s ever come close to it.”

“Oh, she’s easily the most skilled.  That’s a fact,” Varric said.

Henry nodded over the rim of his tankard and Blackwall grunted.

“Look,” Varric set his mug down and leaned forward.  “It’s just ‘scrappy’ is better than ‘flawless’.  I like heroes who try their damnedest, even if they fail a lot.  It’s easy to be valiant when you always win and everything goes your way.  There’s nothing great in that.”

Blackwall frowned and drained his tankard.

“Look at who I found,” Maxwell declared.

“Herald!” Varric grinned up at her.  “We were just discussing that trip to Markham you promised.”

Evelyn laughed.  “Oh?  Well, you certainly are re-writing history, because I remember promising the exact opposite.”

Varric winked and waved at a page to come refill his tankard.

“Evelyn,” Henry said.  He stood at her approach and smiled briefly before pressing his lips together.

She nodded at him.  “Henry.”

“You look well,” he said.

“Well?  You gotta work on your vocabulary.”  Varric laughed.  “Look at her!  That dress.  Josephine dressed you, didn’t she?”

Evelyn made a face.  “Unfortunately.”

Henry chuckled.  “Please, sit.”

Evelyn nodded at her brother and sat down.  It was difficult to step over the bench in a formfitting dress and she had to take Henry’s offered hand for support to settle herself in.  The page from the dais, Theodore, appeared at her side with a goblet of wine.  She smiled in thanks.

She looked across the table to find Blackwall staring at her.  She took in a deep breath and smiled.  Oh, the man did things to her that she did not understand.  The looks he gave her sent ripples of delight through her.  She stared back.

“You look awfully like that gilded statue of Andraste Mother has in the chapel,” Maxwell said with a grin.

Evelyn gave herself a shake and rolled her eyes at him.  “Ugh.  Please, don’t get me started.  You should have seen the cloak they wanted to put me in.  With a chain of office.”

Maxwell snorted.  “I’m sure you would have been the picture of regal bearing and authority.”

“If she was Antivan,” Henry muttered into his cup.  

Varric choked.  “Careful.  You don’t want our esteemed ambassador hearing that.”

Blackwall stared.  He couldn’t help it.  She was a vision from heaven, even if it was obvious she was uncomfortable.  She kept on fiddling with that little fur she had around her neck.  He was not sure what its function was, for it left most of her shoulders bare.  She had a long, slender neck that he wanted to bury his face in.  Her skin radiated the colour of campfire in the candlelight.

Maker, he wanted her.  He wanted to hear that throaty moan of hers again and feel her fingers clasp at his neck.  He wanted to be able to wake next to her, her soft skin smooth against his.   He wanted to watch her laugh in camp, her face alight with the pleasure of being alive and under the stars.  

She was one of the best people he could ever march through Thedas with.  She did her share of the work, and she made great company.  Evelyn loved to laugh and tell stories.  She always came back to camp after foraging with dirt smudged across her brow.  She’d hold the basket aloft in a show of victory.  Their stew pot was always flavourful with garlic, onions, mushrooms. . .  If they were out there, she’d find them.

He wanted to be by her side forever, and drink her in.  She radiated life.  He wanted to be a part of that.   He wanted. . . a dream.

“Well,” he said.  His tankard thudded against the table when he set it down and stood up.  “Time for me to turn in.”

“Already?  The night is still young.”  Varric’s brows rose.

Blackwall shrugged and said the first thing that came to mind.  “Still tired from that march from Adamant.  Perfect time to catch up on sleep. The whole keep is going to be sleeping in tomorrow.  Figured I’d get a head start.”  It sounded lame in his ears, but he went with it anyway.  It was never good to backtrack on a lie.

Before anyone else could object, he nodded to everyone and walked away.  It took longer than he liked to get through the crowds of dancers and out the main doors.  He enjoyed the cool air on his face after the stuffiness of the hall.  Blackwall hurried down the steps when giggles and whispered platitudes started up behind him.  He swung right at the bottom while the couple kept straight, toward the smithy.  They were no doubt looking for a spot out of sight.  The girl pulled her partner into the alcove behind the tavern.  He chuckled to himself.  That alcove served as latrine for anyone who drank at the Herald’s Rest or used the training yard.  The couple had to be visiting nobles.  No one who lived in Skyhold would pull a lover in there.  He grinned to himself as he descended the main stairway to the lower bailey.  Served the bastards’ right.

Nobles.  Of course he had to be in love with one.

He stopped mid-stride.

Well, that was a thought.  He bit a corner of his mustache and looked into nothing.  No.  He shook his head and continued toward the barn.  He shook it again.  No.

The barn was quiet save for the odd snort or stamping of a hoof from the attached stables.  He picked up a small griffon he was working on and pulled out his knife from his belt.  

Maker.  It was true.  He loved her.  He loved a Fade-damned noble.  The Herald of fucking Andraste.

He hooked a foot around the stool leg and pulled it closer to the dying fire.

Someone, somewhere was laughing hard at that.

Blackwall set the griffon and knife on the stool and picked up the long, thick stick he used to stoke the fire with.  How could he expect her to love him?  What could he give her?  She had feelings for him, he knew that.  Maker, she’d always been open about it.  No matter how much he made light of it.

 _You tease_.

He swallowed hard and pulled his flask out from his pocket.  He was a cheat and a liar.  She didn’t love him.  She loved a sham.  A charlatan.  A fake.  The man she loved wasn’t real.  He took a swig.

“I know this is a radical suggestion, but have you considered just. . . talking to her?”

Blackwall looked up and scowled at the meddlesome dwarf.  Varric must have followed him out.

“No.  Never occurred to me.  End of story.”

Varric shook his head.  “You’re not doing this right.  The hero gets the girl, remember?”

“No.”  Blackwall put the flask back in his pocket and picked up his whittling before sitting down on the stool.  “No, you are not getting me into this conversation.”

“You might be content to pine in silence, but I have an inkling that she isn’t.”

Blackwall looked up at him and frowned.  The dwarf simply nodded at him and left.  Blackwall spat.  Damn him.  The fucker was right, though.  Blast him to the Fade and back.

Blackwall looked at the wooden griffon in his hand and began to work on the wings with his knife.

That dress.  It left little to the imagination, and every man with blood in his veins had his eyes on her the entire night.  When Cullen extended his hand for a dance every man wished they were the commander in that moment.  What the commander thought that stunt would get him, Blackwall didn’t know.  He was well into his cups before he even entered the hall, so that probably had something to do with it.  He’d watched the commander stumble when he came out from war room.  He’d been quick to cover it up, but then again, he was a recovering addict.  Those sort knew how to handle themselves.  Whatever the commander had tried hadn’t worked, because Evelyn nearly ran when her brother arrived to rescue her.  She had good brothers, even if Henry could be a bit of a puffed up jackass.  They cared for her.

Blackwall sighed.  The way the dress caught the light as Evelyn sashayed and stepped across the hall told everyone what she looked like underneath.  Every muscle, every curve had been on display.

Maker’s Balls, he was besotted.

The dwarf was right.  He should talk to her.

Blackwall looked out of the barn doors and at the hall.  He took in a deep breath and let it come out in a rush.

He put the griffon back on the bench and slid his knife back into his belt.  He headed back outside and retraced his steps.

 

Evelyn nodded at Blackwall in return, but doubted the man saw it, because he had already turned his back on them.  She pressed her lips together.

“Don’t worry about him.  He’s still sore that I don’t salivate after Chastain.”  Varric laughed.  “Excuse me. Nature calls.”  He got up from the bench.

When the rogue was gone, Henry spoke.

“Eve. . .  I’m sorry.  I behaved badly toward you.”

Evelyn sighed.  “Thank you.”

“When with Knight-Commander Barris I. . . I learned of what happened here in Orlais and Ferelden and how you’ve stopped it.  You’ve united everyone.”  His nostrils flared as he exhaled.  “I may not agree with all of your stances, or decisions, but you’re doing what needs to be done.  I should never have said what I did.”

Evelyn bit her lip and nodded.  She’d waited her entire life to have Henry apologize to her, but now that it happened she derived no pleasure from it.  She simply wanted it to be done and over with.

“Right.  Well.  Apology accepted.”

Henry frowned and opened his mouth, but Maxwell cut in.

“Now that the warm and fuzzy shit is done, you can come and meet that girl I was telling you about.”

Henry arched his brows at his brother.  “Now?  Maxwell, this is not a good-“

“Oh, stuff it.  Of course it’s a good idea.  You’re a good Templar from noble stock, and she’s a distant cousin of some king somewhere.  The best part is she’ll be gone tomorrow.  C’mon.”

Evelyn struggled her way off of the bench and scanned the crowd for someone to talk to.  Bann Vigard’s wife took the opportunity to approach her.

“Your Worship,” she said with a curtsy.

“Lady,” Evelyn said.  She’d forgotten the woman’s name and hoped she wouldn’t catch the slip.

“I wanted to apologize for my husband.  He hasn’t been the same since the Blight.”

Evelyn smiled.  “Really, no need to apologize.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace.”

“Lady Trevelyan, may I have this dance?”

Evelyn looked up from the grateful woman and at an Orlesian noble of middling years.  An earl?  Or was he merely a knight?  She could never keep all of them straight.  She smiled.  The man took her smile for consent.  He grasped her hand and brought her to the dance floor.

One after another they approached as a song ended.  And with each new dance partner she wished they were Blackwall.  Why had he left the hall?  Maker, he had to be the most stubborn man in Thedas.  When the fifth man approached she thought she spied the warden slinking along the wall.  She frowned.  

“Please, I need to refresh myself.  Excuse me,” she forced a smile on her face for the sake of the slighted nobleman and hurried toward Blackwall.

Cullen was at her side in a flash.

“You never answered my invitation,” he whispered into her ear.

Evelyn swallowed.  “Cullen, I-“

“Commander!  Just who I was looking for.”  A deflated Josephine came striding toward them with Bann Vigard following close on her heels.  “The Bann here was asking some questions about our watch schedule.  I’ve advised him that you know more about that than I.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Evelyn said with a smile.  “Bann Vigard, Josephine.”  She nodded to them both and spun on her heel, leaving the three of them and continued to where she had last glimpsed Blackwall.  When she got there, he was nowhere to be seen.  She’d lost him, she realized with a sigh.

“No one would blame you if you escaped,” said Dorian.

Evelyn started.  Dorian chuckled from his seat.

“All that dancing can tire a person out.  Oh, and you look ravishing, by the way.  Josephine did wonders.”

“And what are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.  You’ve got horrible taste in clothing.  This is much better.”  Dorian lounged back in his chair and took a sip of wine.

Evelyn rolled her eyes.  “You think I could leave without anyone noticing?”

“The Herald of Andraste?  Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan?  Highly unlikely.  But a perk of being in charge is that you can do whatever you please and the rest of us be damned.”

“That,” Evelyn said with a grin, “is a good point.”

Dorian flashed his teeth and held his goblet up in salute.  “You go get your beauty sleep.  I’m going to stay here and personally taste test every bottle of Orlesian wine they open tonight.”

Evelyn laughed.  “Have fun.”

“Of course.”

Evelyn made her way to the door to her quarters and shook her head at the herald when he stepped forward.  She did not need a fanfare for her departure.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she had the skirt of the dress hitched up to her knees and was taking the stairs up two at a time.  At the top of the stairs she kicked off her slippers and reached behind her to get the lacing undone.  Movement on the balcony caused her to look up.  

Blackwall stood in the shadows.

She smiled at the sight of him.  So this is where he had disappeared off to.  “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”  She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.  

Blackwall sighed and shook his head.  “No.  I couldn’t.  If only you knew how confounding you are, how impossibly infuriating.”

Evelyn arched a brow.  It was not the sort of romantic preamble she was expecting.

He sighed again and stepped forward.  “I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin.  I wanted to-“ He continued to walk toward her.  “I just had to see you.”

Butterflies began to flutter in her stomach.  She met his dark eyes with her own as his hands slid around her waist; their lips met.  His lips were dry and rough, but the way they scraped across hers sent shivers down her spine.  Evelyn brought her arms up around Blackwall’s neck and pulled him closer against her.  He smelled like a mixture of smoke, ale, fresh cut wood, and sweat.  She inhaled deeply through her nose;  she loved the smell of him.

And then he pulled away.  “No.  This is wrong.”  He shook his head and stepped back.  “I shouldn’t even be here.”

It was the ramparts and the Storm Coast all over again.  He did this over and over to her.  Evelyn’s heart sank.  “It doesn’t feel wrong,” she whispered.

He was torn.  She could see it in his eyes.  Something held him back, and she hated it.

He frowned at her.  “I want to give in.  Maker knows I wish I could.  I’m not what you want.  I could never be what you deserve.”

She hated whatever tortured him.  She reached out and brushed his cheek with her thumb.  “You’re wrong.  You’re a good man.”

“Am I?” His voice was both rough and soft.  The pleading in that question cut into her.

Her thumb moved over his lips.  “I see it.”

“There’s nothing I can offer you.  You’d have no life with me.”  He swallowed.  “But I. . . I need you to end this, because I can’t.”

She cupped his cheek and stepped closer to him.  Her chest pressed against his leather jerkin.

“I’m not letting you go,” she said.  She entwined her fingers in his hair.

“We’ll regret this, my lady,” he breathed.

She kissed him lightly on the mouth.  “Do you regret that?”

He pulled her roughly against him and pressed his mouth against hers.  Blackwall pushed her back with his body, and she felt behind her for the balustrade to steady herself.  

“Woman,” he growled into her mouth.  “You have no idea what you do to me.”  His hands ran down her back to where the ends of the laces were tucked.  He slipped a finger down the crease and hooked them out.

Evelyn bit at his lower lip.  “Probably the same you do to me.”

He smiled down at her and growled again.  She could feel it reverberate in his chest, and her body went warm.  She let out a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a moan, which caused his smile to grow wider.  He had undone the loose knot and began loosening the bodice.  She felt the shoulders begin to slide down her arms.  The silk dress took little encouragement to glide off of her and pool itself about her feet.  She stood naked before him as small-clothes were not an option with a thin, clinging gown.  

He trailed a finger along her neck and down her shoulder.

“You’re beautiful, my lady.”

Evelyn tilted her head to the side as his hand traced its way back up her neck.

She looked up at him through her lashes and quirked the corner of her mouth.  “I think I preferred ‘woman’.”

Blackwall chuckled low in his throat.  His thumb was on her lips now, while his fingers pressed where her neck and jaw met.  “I knew you were excited at the Fisher’s Rest.”

She parted her lips and bit down lightly on his thumb.  He pulled it away and moistened her lips with her own saliva.

“The way you nestled into me,” he continued,  “it excited you to feel me pressed against you.”

Maker, the way his voice sounded like gravel could do her in.  Her pulse quickened as his attention roved over her.

“Yes,” she croaked.  She swallowed.  “I wanted you so badly.”  She reached for him.

His eyes flashed and he had her in his arms again.  His teeth raked against her ear.  His breaths came in erratic heaves.  Every puff of air against her skin caused a pulsating glow in her abdomen.  Her fingers clawed at the laces of his jerkin; he chuckled into her neck when she fumbled with the knots.  He stepped back and began to untie them.

“You’ve got to be patient.”

She laughed.  “Patient?  With you?”

His mouth quirked.  “I deserved that.”  

He shrugged out of the jerkin and let it drop to the floor.  Evelyn took hold of the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head.  The cotton tunic joined the jerkin.  She delighted in how his chest hair felt against her hands; she kissed his chest and smiled at the texture against her lips.  She reached down for his belt, her mouth trailing downward.  Blackwall groaned as he realized what she intended.  

The belt was much easier to deal with than the laces, and she had his cock out of the confines of his leathers with little effort.  It was the first time she got a good look at it.  They had not gotten undressed that afternoon in Haven, and he had not been aroused when he bathed in her hut.  She sank down to her knees and ran her tongue up the length of it.  Blackwall shuddered.  She looked up at him and smiled,  and he growled in return.  She swirled her tongue along the tip and traced the fine line down its middle.  She gave him two firm strokes before taking him in her mouth.  The warm, smooth skin of his shaft glided against her moist lips.  That was her favourite part about this, she loved how it felt against the delicate corners of her mouth.  She kept her eyes on his narrowed ones.  Evelyn kept moving her tongue along him as she brought him as deep into her as she could.  The rest she kept in her hand, stroking him in time with her head bobs.  The pearls of her circlet rattled with every movement.

Blackwall reached down and gently tugged at her chin.

“Maker, woman. . .”  He moaned as she took him a little deeper, so that his tip touched the soft palate at the back of her throat.  “Best stop that.”  

She sucked as he pulled out of her, and licked the head of his cock as he stepped away.  She laughed softly.  “I was enjoying myself.”

He took in a deep breath through his nose and gazed down at her.  “So was I.  How about you lay on the bed and show me that pussy of yours.”

She licked her lips at his choice of words, and her inner walls convulsed, sending waves of warmth through her groin in response.  She rose to her feet and sauntered over to the four poster bed.  She ran her fingers along the length of him as she passed.  He slapped her ass in return and she laughed.

He watched as she sat on the edge of the bed.  “That’s right.  Just lay back and give me a view.”

She did as she was told, and lifted her heels up onto the edge of the mattress.  A thrill went through her as she exposed herself completely to him.

“Let me see,” he said as he approached.  Her eyes focused on his Adonis belt and the way it pointed directly to his cock.  It jut out proudly from the flap of his leathers.    “You want this?” he asked with a chuckle.

She nodded and thrust her hips forward.  Blackwall grinned and stepped out of his trousers.

“Patience.”  He reached down and dragged his middle finger along her wet slit.  He stopped just a hair short of her pearl.  She whimpered.

It was his turn to get down on his knees.  He held onto each of her legs just at the bend of her knee and spread them wider apart.  A low sound rumbled in his chest and he dove into her.  His tongue went straight for her clit and she cried out in surprise.  He lapped at her with slow and steady strokes that had her gripping the bedclothes and tossing her head from side to side.  She tried to grind her hips against him, but he strengthened his grip on her legs and pushed her back.  Waves of pleasure radiated through her.  

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned.

No matter how much she squirmed he kept up with the same steady pace.  He ran the full length of his tongue from the bottom of her pussy, over the sensitive inner lips, and then dragged it up along her pearl.  She straightened her legs as much as she could with him holding her open like he was.  The muscles in her ass tightened and her head and shoulders came up off the bed.  Her breaths came in short gasps, punctuated with throaty groans.

“Maker.”  She threw her head back.  “Oh, Blackwall,” she breathed.  “Oh, that’s too much.”  Her back arched and the only part of her still on the bed was her ass.  Blackwall’s hands slid up to support her lower back, but he kept his relentless pace.  “Too much,” she whispered.  The sparks gathered in her nub and sent her head spinning.  “Oh, fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck,” she said with every exhale.  

The sparks exploded through her and cast waves of pleasure up into her abdomen and down into her thighs.  She bolted upright and grasped the back of Blackwall’s head.  She screamed out.  He kept at her throughout the orgasm and only stopped when she collapsed back down on the bed.  He grinned as he climbed over her.  She smiled up at him.

“Thank you.”

Blackwall chuckled and leaned down for a kiss; she tasted herself on his mustache.  She licked his lips.

“Blackwall?” she said.

“Mmm?” His mouth trailed along her jawline.

“Fuck me.”

Blackwall’s answering growl  tickled her ear drum.  He got back to his feet and pulled her forward so her ass was just off the edge of the bed.  He hoisted her legs up to his chest and gripped her ankles.  Evelyn propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch him enter her.  The corner of Blackwall’s mouth quirked.

He pressed into her with just as much deliberate care as he had been before.  Her walls rippled around him.  He let out a shaky moan.

“Maker, Evelyn, you feel amazing.”

Evelyn grinned at him.  “So do you.”  He was just reaching the spot right before the pubic bone that sent her wild.  She held her breath in anticipation and watched as his cock slowly sank into her.  She smiled to herself as he pressed upward against it.

“Ah,” he said with a laugh.  “There it is.”

Her smile widened.  “Yeah, just hit there s’more,” she purred.  Evelyn dropped down to her back and closed her eyes in order to enjoy the sensations pulsing through her.

He gradually picked up speed and dutifully hit that spot every time.  At first he slid no farther than there, but as he got faster he pounded up against her.  When he pulled outward he made a point of pressing upward to slide against it.  Evelyn cried out every time he touched that spot, her cries turned into a low keen.

“Oh, yes.”  She tossed her head to the left, her right cheek pressed against the bed. “Keep doing that.”  Her breaths grew ragged.  “Keep doing that.  Don’t stop.  Don’t - Oh, fuck.  Oh!”  Her entire pussy clenched around Blackwall in a succession of waves.  She pounded her fist on the mattress.  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” she hissed.

Blackwall pumped a few more times and then he was hugging her legs and crying out with his eyes closed.  She thrusted with her hips to help prolong his orgasm as she continued to writhe around in her own.

When Blackwall was still and Evelyn could open her eyes without seeing stars, she laughed.

“Blackwall.”  She laughed again.  “Andraste’s Tits, that was great.”

Blackwall grinned and slowly pulled out of her.  He let her legs down gently.

“You have a towel or cloth around?” He asked as he looked about the room for something to clean her with.  He reached for his tunic.

“Leave it.  I like how it feels between my thighs.”  She turned onto her side with her head resting on her arm and rubbed her legs together.

Blackwall’s grin came back and he leaned over her.  “Mmm.  That’s all me between those thighs.”

She nipped at his nose. “Damned straight it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to send out a thank you to Zendelai for agreeing to be a beta reader/proof reader/idea bouncer. I really appreciate it. Particularly that you are willing to put up with my random messages of "Do you think he'd use the word quim?" and the like.


	30. More Is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More is coming. Two more weeks and the semester is done. Freedom!
> 
> Thank you for being patient.


	31. Diamondback

 

Evelyn stared at the war map while Cullen and Cassandra discussed Corypheus.  She ignored the arguing pair as the two talked out of desperation, hoping that an idea would materialise from their circular questioning.  Josephine frowned at her clipboard and Leliana lounged on her stool, her eyes focused on nothing.  This meeting was going nowhere.  All they needed was Mother Giselle to start singing and Evelyn could easily pretend they were on the mountain path above Haven again.

Evelyn got up from her stool and wandered over to the window.  She held a finger up to the coloured glass and tracked the spidery lines of ice on the other side of the panes.  She’d woken early to an empty bed.  She had half expected it, so was pleasantly surprised when she found Blackwall stoking the fire, still undressed.  His brow furrowed as he gazed into the growing flames.

“Copper for your thoughts?” She sat up and the sheets fell to her waist as she rubbed an eye with the heel of her hand.

Blackwall started.  A slow smile crept onto his face when he looked at her.  “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Evelyn laughed and tossed a pillow at him.  The edge of it hit one of the big wooden posts at the foot of her bed and landed nowhere near him.  “You’re getting soft,” she groaned.  “Where’d my grizzled hero go?”

He grinned and set the fire iron back on its hook.  “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Good,” she purred, “because I want you back in here.”

He glanced out of the window.  The snowy peaks glowed orange in the rising sun.  “Skyhold will wake soon,” he said.  “Perhaps I should-“

“I don’t care,” Evelyn said with a shake of her head.

Blackwall looked at her for a moment before nodding.  She pulled back the covers for him as he padded back to the bed.  As he knelt over her, she wrapped her arms about his neck.

“Thank you for staying,” she whispered.

“How could I not?” His lips brushed against her temple.  “I’m well and truly caught, my lady.”

“Inquisitor?”

Evelyn jerked her attention back to the present and looked up.  Her three advisors and Cassandra all watched her.  Cullen quickly looked away and Cassandra pursed her lips in annoyance.  Leliana hid a smile behind her hand.

“Sorry.”  Evelyn smiled.  “What were you saying?”

Cassandra snorted and looked back down at the war table.

Josephine cleared her throat.  “We have been invited to the Winter Palace for a ball.  We think the assassin will be there.”

Evelyn nodded.  Finally, an idea.  Maker knew she did not have any.  “Then we shouldn’t waste any time.  Let’s go to the Winter Palace.”

“Right,” said Leliana.  “I’ll get people inside of the palace.”

“You might want to talk to Sera.  She may have friends already there,” Evelyn suggested.

Leliana smiled.  “I always do.”

Cassandra grimaced.  “Really?”

“Yes.  She has access to an incredible amount of information, if you’re patient enough to interpret it.”

“When is this ball, Ambassador?” Cullen asked.

“In four weeks.”

Cullen nodded, in thought.  “We should leave in a week then.”

“Alright.”  Evelyn’s stomach growled.  Lunch beckoned.  “Sounds good.  I trust everyone to know what needs to be done to ready for our departure.  Josephine, I’ll need a list and brief rundown on who is attending this ball.  Familial relations, political stances, factions. . . That sort of thing.”

Josephine gave a half bow.  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Cassandra left first with Leliana and Josephine close on her heels.  Evelyn began to follow them out of the war room when Cullen spoke.

“Inquisitor, may I have a moment?”

She paused and closed her eyes.  Not this again.  Please.  She licked her lips and turned to look at him.

He had dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders drooped.  He looked a bit worse for wear after his imbibing at the feast.

He rubbed the back of his neck and scrunched his nose.  “I want to apologize for my behaviour last night.”  Cullen glanced up at her.  “I was- I was not myself.”

Evelyn swallowed.  “I understand.”

Cullen let out his breath.  “Good.  Well.  I better get started on that roster for the march.” He nodded.  “Inquisitor.”

Evelyn’s stomach lurched.  She could not let him go like this.  Maker, she cared for him.  She cared for him a great deal, but not in the manner he wished.  She swallowed back bile.

“Cullen,” she said just as he was about to close the door behind him.  “I’m sorry too.  I was not fair to you.”

He paused mid-step; the fur of his cape rippled from the sudden stop.

“I wish to make it up to you.”  She bit the inside of her cheek and watched for any movement, any sign that he would not merely walk away.

He turned around slowly.  His face had paled and the lines around his mouth were pinched.  “Evelyn, I would have lov-“ He closed his eyes and sighed.  He rubbed at his neck and met her eyes with his own.  “Just. . . Just love him.”  His jaw worked.

Pressure built around her eyes and her throat tightened.  Evelyn blinked.

Cullen looked down at his feet.

“When we get back from the Winter Palace, we should play a game of chess,” she said.

Cullen looked up and Evelyn gave him a tentative smile.

“I’d like that,” he said as the corners of his mouth tugged upward.  “I will see you at dinner, Inquisitor.”

He strode from the war room with one hand on the pommel of his sword, and the other running through his hair.

As the door closed, Evelyn leaned against the table and closed her eyes.

**~*~**

Dinner was an informal affair.  The head table stayed down in the storage room, and Evelyn dined at the head of one of the trestle tables with her advisors.

“I have sent our acceptance of the invitation via courier.  They will be expecting us,” Josephine said.  She passed the platter of braised dawn lotus across to Leliana.

“And I have my lieutenants coordinating the march.  Hunter Kiall has already left with a group to ensure we are supplied for the trip,” Cullen reported.

Evelyn took the offered platter from Leliana and dished a small portion of the dawn lotus roots onto her plate.  She was not particularly fond of dawn lotus.  Too bitter, but Skyhold’s cook was a good one, and she was willing to give his version a chance.  She handed the platter to Cullen and reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes which sat next to the platter of roasted druffalo.

“Leliana?” she asked.

“I’ve compiled a list of Orelesian nobility you should be aware of.  Information is going to be what gives us an edge in the Game.  We could go over it after dinner,” said Leliana.

Evelyn nodded.  “Josephine?  Care to join us?”

Josephine swallowed her bite of food.  “Yes, Your Grace.  Different viewpoints are always nice to have.”

“Speaking of viewpoints,” Leliana said, putting down her knife, “I think both Sera and Vivienne should join us.  Both will have insights.”

Evelyn arched a brow.  “As long as I’m not responsible for the outcome of that.”

Cullen snorted into his mug of water.

 

At the opposite end of the long table, Varric eyed Solas.  “You’ve never played Diamondback?”

Solas shook his head and set his wine glass on the table.  “Cards are not often found in the Fade.”

Varric shared a glance with Blackwall.  “You really need to get out more, Chuckles.”

Sera snickered and stuffed half a flaky roll into her mouth. 

Solas ignored her.  “I have witnessed more in the Fade than you will ever know, child of the stone.”

Blackwall eyed the elf.  “Naw.  I don’t buy it.”  He speared a piece of druffalo onto the end of his belt knife.  “I think you’re afraid of losing.”

“Oh, what?  Beardy threw the glove!” Sera crowed.  She laughed.  “We’ll see where your elven glory is now.”

“Duelling, are we?”

Blackwall looked up from his plate to find Evelyn standing behind him.  He smiled up at her.

“It appears I’ve been challenged to a game of cards,” Solas said.

“Oh?” Evelyn grinned down at Blackwall.  “What game?”

“Diamondback.  You in?” asked Blackwall.

Evelyn grimaced.  “I wish I could.  No, I’ve got to go over a list of nobility who might have cause to align themselves with our ancient Tevinter asshole.”

Blackwall wrinkled his nose.  “Sounds like buckets of fun.  Varric?”

“Sorry, no can do.”  The dwarf pushed his chair back from the table and got up.  “I’ve got some letters to write.  Can’t avoid them forever.”

“And Sera’s coming with me, I’m afraid,” Evelyn said before Sera could say anything.

“Me?” Sera squinted at Evelyn.  “What’s there to talk about?  They’re nobles, yeah?  They’re all arseholes.”

Blackwall snorted.

“You might have heard something from your friends,” Evelyn said with a smile.  “Your input is important to me.”

Sera eyed Evelyn carefully.  “Why are you bein’ all nicey nice-nice?”  She frowned.  “Madame Fancypants is coming too, isn’t she?”

Evelyn nodded, but to her relief the elf giggled.  “The look on her face when I show up. . .  Ok.  Worth it.”

“Well, Warden,” said Solas, “it appears it’s just you and I.”

“I’ll go easy on you, considering it’ll be your first time,” Blackwall said with a grin.

Solas merely rose from his chair and started walking toward the rotunda.

Evelyn chuckled.  “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will.  Wouldn’t mind a heavier coin purse, either,” Blackwall said with a wink before he got up to follow Solas.

 

The meeting was as tedious and mind-numbingly dull as Evelyn expected it to be.  The politics of the Free Marches had been more than enough for her to handle.  The Orlesian Game made the Free Marches seem like a child’s nursery game.  The only things that kept Evelyn awake were Sera’s attempts to goad Vivienne into losing her cool. 

Evelyn rose from the chair by Josephine’s fire as the meeting drew to a close.  “Alright.  I’m going to the Rest.”

“I’ll join you,” said Leliana.  “Someone I wanted to speak with should be there by now.”

“Care to join us, Vivvy?” asked Sera.

Vivienne repressed a sigh.  “It is properly Madame Vivienne, official mage to the Imperial Court.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard.  Not the title, the snotty bit.”

“How ever shall I recover from your condemnation?” drawled Vivienne as she dusted an invisible crumb from her sleeve.

Sera rolled her eyes.  “You’re still doing it.  Can you even shut it off?”

“For you, my dear?  No.”  She turned and smiled at Evelyn.  “I’ll have to give you my regrets, dear.  I promised Lady Antionigon a word.”

“And it shall be an early night for me,” Josephine said.  “I have a lot to attend to in the morning.”

The meeting broke up and everyone, save for Josephine who's early night appeared to consist of reading papers at her desk, rose from their chairs.  Evelyn stretched.  If she never had to do that again, she would be a very happy Inquisitor.  She followed Leliana out of Josephine’s office, through the hall, and out onto the stairs overlooking both the upper and lower bailies.

“Is that-” Leliana stopped and peered down toward the kitchen staircase.  Evelyn stepped on the back of the spy master's heel and Sera grabbed her arm to stable her.  Leliana glanced down at her foot before squinting into the dim lower bailey. “Is that Blackwall?”

Evelyn looked over the spy master’s shoulder.  There was Blackwall, scuttling down the kitchen stairs with nothing but a bucket for his bits.

Leliana laughed.  “What in the Maker. . .?”

Evelyn’s belly shook with laughter.  “I believe he lost a card game.”

Sera cackled as Blackwall turned to make a run for the barn doors, giving them a full view of his pale behind. “’Ey, Beardy!” she shouted.

Leliana guffawed into her hand.

“Nice arse!” Sera yelled just before she slipped two fingers into her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

Blackwall turned slowly to look at them, both hands holding the wooden bucket in place.

Evelyn ran her hands under her eyes as she laughed.  “Oh.  Change of plans, ladies, I want details.”

Sera sniggered.  “More like your bucket of fun.”

Leliana looked at the elf and grinned. “Oh, poor Blackwall.”

Evelyn wiped her eyes again.  “Poor is right, if that bucket has anything to say.  I bet Solas is feeling smug.  Maybe I should see him first.”

Sera groaned.  “Ugh!  That stick is gonna be farther up his arse now.”  She made a face.  “Ruined.  Not funny anymore.”

Evelyn shrugged.  “Still funny to me.  I’m going to go dig up some dirt.”

“Have fun, Inquisitor,” Leliana said.

“Goodnight, Leliana, Sera.”  Evelyn watched as Blackwall disappeared into the barn, his bare ass glowing in the torchlight.  She chuckled at his waddle.  This was going to be good.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! The next chapter is already written, just going over some final details. I'm back in the swing of things and will be posting weekly again.
> 
> The entire last part of the chapter is inspired by some party banter.


	32. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Evelyn felt queasy.  People had been slaughtered tonight, and the Orlesian nobility were dancing the courante and sipping wine in blatant disregard for lost life.  Confronted with this kind of apathy she could not find fault in Sera and her friends.  Sure, the Free Marches were far from perfect, but Ostwick was an idyllic pasture in comparison to this viper’s nest.

Evelyn knew she was not the portrait of virtue.  Maker, she had let Sera beat that man to death and she had allowed Solas to ease his pain by outright murdering those terrified mages.  She, herself, had lost patience with people and just attacked on sight.  She was a killer, and every kill she made was piling up on her like the pile of bodies in the servants’ quarters.  She could not simply tell herself that she was a soldier, an arm, a tool, because she was not.  She made the decisions.  Her decision tonight affected every nation in Thedas.  Evelyn swallowed at the thought.

But those prancing fops and fools did not care for the death toll of innocents.  As long as their punch and little cakes were served to them, they were happy to continue to play the Game and wheedle a new position under the new regime.  How Leliana could feel wistful about all of this, Evelyn did not understand.

She sighed and leaned against the balustrade of the balcony.  Her shoulders slumped forward and she closed her eyes.  Celene was dead and Gaspard now sat on the throne.  Evelyn tried to take solace in the fact that the Inquisition now had Orlais in their pocket, but the satisfaction she felt was fleeting.

Nobles.  She shook her head.  

And yet, she was one of them.

 

Blackwall crossed his arms and glowered at the curtained balcony across the dance floor.  Save the Empress, kill some bad guys and get the fuck out of there.  That had been the plan, but somewhere it got skewed, and the Inquisition was now a main player in the Game.    

How could she have done that?  That conceited bastard was now Emperor of Orlais.   People could say what they wanted about Celene, but she had the cunning and grace to lead the empire.  Gaspard was as subtle as throwing a goat against a castle wall; he was going to bring another war to Orlais.  Blackwall fought the urge to spit on the polished marble floor.

The Inquisition had committed treason and his lover had made the call.  He gritted his teeth and leaned against the pillar.   _Maker’s Balls_ , she made this difficult.  How could he. . .  He shook his head and snorted.  How could he indeed.  What sort of high horse did he belong on?  He had to talk to her.  Maybe she had reasons; reasons he was not privy to.  She had spoken to Leliana enough throughout the evening for that to be a possibility.  

She had to have a reason.  

She had to.

Evelyn was leaning on the railing when he finally made his way over to her.  She had dark circles under her eyes and her shoulders were slumped forward.  He recognized that look.  The nightmare of sitting atop his horse and  listening to the screams of young ones as they were slaughtered at his command came back to him.  He swallowed hard.  Maker, how he knew that look.  

Evelyn gave him the benefit of the doubt; every day she smiled at him and every night she welcomed him into her bed.  How many times had he evaded her questions as they lay together, her head resting on his chest?  He’d lost count.  She knew he was hiding something, but she never pressed him.  She just gave him a silent nod and let the subject drop.  

Blackwall pressed his lips together.  He could at least try to do the same for her.

“There are at least a dozen young lords and ladies hoping for some time with the hero of the night.”

Evelyn looked up as he approached, and gave him a rueful smile.  He leaned in next to her, his shoulder brushing against hers.

“And yet here you are.  Alone.  Care to share your thoughts?”

She sighed again.  “I’m just tired.  It’s been a long night.”

“You work too hard.  I can see you wanting to get away from it all.”  He rose from the railing and held out his hand.  “Before we leave, may I have this dance, Lady Trevelyan?”

She hesitated, but a soft smile lit up her face and she put her hand in his.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice soft.

He placed his other hand on her lower back and stepped in close.

“I didn’t know you danced,” she said.

“I did once.  In another life.”

There was blood in her hair.  It must have been missed in their quick clean up after the fight with Florianne.  Evelyn rested her head on his shoulder; little puffs of air tickled his neck.  She smelled of something sweet and heady.  Honeysuckle?

_Maker, help me._

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sustained breath.

Blackwall pulled her in tight and rested his cheek against her forehead.  “You’re more than tired.  Something is eating you.”

She blinked.  “Oh.  I’m. . .”  She looked up at him and frowned.  “I’m sorry, Blackwall.”

“Sorry?”  He chuckled low in his chest.  “Evelyn, you just saved the empire.”

“No.  No, I’m sorry I did what you didn’t want me to do.  I disappointed you,” she said, her eyes wide. Her teeth scraped along her bottom lip.

Blackwall swallowed.  “That.”  The fact that she was the one to bring the matter up made him feel sick for doubting her.  She regretted her actions.  “Well, can’t say I approve of that. . .” he searched for a word that would not be considered treason by any listening ears,   “. . . jackass sitting on the throne, but what’s done is done.  And so is this civil war.”  For now.

“You don’t like him.  Why?” she asked.

He knew that question was coming, but that did not mean he was ready for it.  What could he say?  Did he tell her?  If he did. . . No.  Not here.  Not yet.

“This is not the place for that,” he said.

She did not press further, and they danced to the music carrying from the ballroom.  When the song ended and applause erupted from the other side of the curtained doorway, Evelyn spoke.

“I’m done with this place,” she said.  “Let’s get out of here and go to camp.”

He released all but her hand and started to lead her back to the ballroom, but Evelyn shook her head.

“Not that way.  I’ll never be able to leave once that horde sees me.”

Blackwall arched a brow.  “That’s the way to the exit.”

Evelyn grinned.  “No.  The garden is the exit.”  She pointed to the trellis on the wall next to the balcony.

Blackwall laughed.  “We’ve already scaled the palace walls a few times tonight.  Why not again?”

“I’m so glad I talked Josephine out of that gown,” Evelyn said as she swung a leg over the railing.  “Go after an agent of Corypheus in a dress. . .” she shook her head.  “I don’t understand that woman sometimes.”

“It certainly would have gotten in the way,” Blackwall agreed.  “Though, you could have pulled a Florianne.  How did she manage to change so quickly?”

Evelyn grinned into the ivy and began her descent.  “She must have been wearing it under the gown.  Detachable skirt?  Or maybe,” she chuckled, “or maybe she had ladies in waiting on hand to change her.”

Blackwall hopped the railing and followed Evelyn down into the garden.  “Josephine’s going to be upset that we left like that.”

Evelyn wrinkled her nose.  “Maybe we’ll run into a servant.  They can relay the message.”

Blackwall snorted.  “Well, she should take it easy on them.  There aren’t many left to kill.”

Her laughter caught in her throat and she fell into a coughing fit.  “That,” she gasped, “was horrible!  I deserve choking on that.”

Blackwall gave her a wry grin and shrugged.

They did find a servant.  The poor girl nearly soiled herself at their sudden appearance from behind a hedge.

“Yes, Your Worship.  Anything for Your Grace,” she stuttered before running toward the palace.

“No need to run!” Evelyn called after her.  “No, really.  I’d like a head start.  A quarter glass would be nice!”

The girl tried curtseying while running and tripped, nearly falling headlong into a fountain.  Blackwall winced, but the girl picked herself back up and hurried at a fast walk.

The field surrounding the Winter Palace was a madhouse of carousing soldiers and minor nobility, no different than what was going on inside, complete with hidden daggers in the dark.  Blackwall spotted one of Gaspard’s agents lurking between two tents.  More blood was to be spilled tonight.  The great Orlesian Game.

Evelyn said something, but he did not hear what.  He frowned.  

“They don’t care who’s on the throne,” he said with a nod at a group of soldiers laughing as one of their fellows was turned down by a serving girl.  “They’re just glad they’re not being sent off to die for those perfumed idiots back there.  The war is over.”  One of the soldiers, a captain, he thought, broke off from the group to take a piss.  Gaspard’s agent followed him from the shadows.  He grimaced.  “I bet Celene’s officers will be missing come morning.”  Blackwall knew he could have been one of those men.

She scrunched her face like she always did when a new thought occurred to her.  “Surely. . . Some will escape.”

At what cost?  They would always be on the run.  Maybe join a mercenary band; lucky if they ended up in a group like the Chargers, unlucky if they wound up in one of those units that the Inquisition were always cutting through like butter.  What would these men do? Grow a beard and pray to the Maker that no one noticed?  He bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged.

She looked up at him, her nose wrinkled..  “I wonder- If we put the word out. . .”  She nodded as she made a decision. “We could use experienced men.”

His throat tightened.  “Taking in all of the riff-raff?  First the Templars, then the Wardens and now Celene’s officers?”  The words came out harsher than he intended so he forced a smile.

Evelyn put her soft hand in his own.  He looked down at it.  

“We all make mistakes,” she said.  “And these men, the only mistake they made was following orders.  I cannot condemn them for that.”

His heart swelled and he squeezed her hand, unable to form words.

“Condemn the person who gave the order, if you have to condemn anyone,” she whispered.  She licked her lips and stepped away.

“Hey,” he said.  She stopped and turned.  He reached for her other hand and interlocked his fingers with hers.  “Someone has to give the order, and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather it be made by someone who cares about who the order will impact.  You care, Evelyn.”  The smile she gave him warmed his chest.  He brushed his lips against her knuckles.  “I love you.”

She smiled.  “I love you, too.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but she broke away.

“Lieutenant!” she called.  An Inquisition soldier stopped and turned to look at them.

“Your Grace!” the woman said with a smart salute.  She did not waver.  Good, thought Blackwall, the soldier was sober.   Cullen had his troops trained well.

Evelyn hurried over to her.  “I want it spread around, quietly, that the Inquisition will take any of Celene’s officers still around.  Or supporters, for that matter.  Have someone inform both the Ambassador and Commander.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”  The lieutenant saluted again and hurried back in the direction she had come from.

Blackwall walked over to where Evelyn stood and smiled at her.  She smiled back.

“It’s what we do about things that matter,” she said.  “We may not be perfect, but it’s what we do about our mistakes that define us.”

Blackwall looked at her.  “Whoever said that knows more than I.”

She laughed and reached out to smooth his hair.  “I learned it from you.  At Adamant.”

_Maker.  I do not deserve you._

They made their way to where the Inquisition was set up, close to Gaspard’s roped off compound of pavilions and marquees.  It was quieter here, where the soldiers were under strict orders to behave themselves.  

They made love under the canvas of her marquee.  The way she arched her back and pressed her cheek against her pillow drove him mad.  Her hips rose to meet his without missing a beat and he fought hard to hold himself back for her.

Afterward, as she nuzzled his shoulder and curled up against him, she whispered his name.

“Mmm?” he asked, his eyes closed.

“I need to tell you something.”

He opened an eye and looked at her.  Her face was upturned, and she bit at her lip.  He frowned.

“Alright,” he said slowly.  

They both sat up in bed, and he waited as she gathered her words.

“I. . . I was a Sister, in the Chantry.”  She plucked at the blanket.  “I did not make a very good Sister.  I didn’t want to go to the Chantry, but I wasn’t given much of a choice.  Marry a man, or marry the Maker.  Problem was, I didn’t like any of the suitors mother chose for me, and, well. . .  Maker it was.”

Blackwall watched her carefully, not knowing where this was going.  So far none of this was any real news to him.  The fact that she had once found shelter in the cloisters of the Chantry was common knowledge.

She stopped fiddling and folded her hands on her thigh.  “I broke my oath.  I broke my oath to the Maker.  I don’t give a damn about the Chantry, but Him. . .” she sighed.  “I became pregnant.”

He stroked the length of her arm with the back of his forefinger.  He was not surprised.  Evelyn was not the pious type.  A believer, yes, but not one for the Chantry.  There was always a small graveyard behind a Chantry full of tiny, unmarked headstones, and there had been Henry’s words outside Gleithall.  She had faint marks on her stomach.  It all fit.

“He. . . He won’t forsake me, will He?” she asked.

“Oh, Evelyn,” he said, gathering her in his arms.  “I can’t speak for Him.  But I know that He married Andraste, and she led a revolution.  An already married woman at that.”  He smiled when she rewarded him with a soft chuckle.

“You’re the first person to not immediately ask about the child,” she said into his chest.

Blackwall froze.  What was he supposed to say?  Maker knew how many whores he’d fathered children on.  He hadn’t even thought. . . “Is there something to say?”

She snorted and shook her head.  “No.  No, there isn’t.  Everyone always tells me how sorry they are that the child was taken away.”  She looked up at him.  “I never asked.  And I’ve never asked because. . .”  She furrowed her brow.  Blackwall traced a finger along the indent and down the bridge of her nose.  “Am I horrible for not wondering?”

If he did have children, and it was likely he did considering how he gallivanted around Thedas in his younger days, he could never be a father to them.  Not with this life.  He supposed it wasn’t any different for her, a shamed Sister and dishonoured young noblewoman.  “No.  You’re not horrible.  It was never going to be yours, even if you did bring it into the world.  It’s easier not to wonder.”  He kissed her temple.

She smiled at him and ran her hands over his chest.  “What did I do to deserve you?”

Blackwall swallowed back the lump in his throat and let her wrap her arms around his neck.  He returned her kiss when she pressed her lips against his and lay back down on the bed as she crawled on top of him.

He had to tell her.

He inhaled sharply as she trailed her tongue along the sensitive spot where his neck met his collarbone.

Soon.


	33. Oh, Grey Warden

“Whoa there, boy!” Blackwall said to the prancing grey as he held onto the horse’s bridle.  He stroked the animal’s neck and glanced up at the rider.  The lad looked dead in his saddle with a bright purple eye and a red slash across his nose.

“You should see the cook, surgeon, and then go to bed,” Blackwall said.

The messenger shook his head and patted the message tube he had slung over his shoulder.  “Reports for the Lady Nighingale, sir.”

The spy’s quiver was nearly empty, and his right boot was missing its dagger.  Blackwall watched as the messenger carefully slid off of his mount.  He favoured his left side, Blackwall noted.  “I’ll take it.  You get your rest.  Your mistress won’t begrudge you this.”

The spy hesitated, but ducked out from under the leather strap and handed the tube to Blackwall.  “Thank you, Warden-Constable,” he said.

Blackwall nodded in response and watched as the kid staggered toward the kitchen stairs.  He slid the strap of the message tube over his shoulder and led the horse into the stable.  After unsaddling it and hanging its tack on its peg, he began to rub the grey down.  The gelding stamped its foot and butted Blackwall with its forehead.  Unprepared, Blackwall stumbled backward and the edge of the message tube hit the stall door.  The lid popped off and a few sheets of paper fell out.  Blackwall hooked the rag on a nail and bent over to pick them up.

A name caught his eye and a chill went down his spine.

> _Lieutenant Cyril Mornay, one of the soldiers responsible for the Callier Massacre of 9:37, was captured in Lydes.  Like the others who were arrested for their involvement, Mornay insists that he did not know who he was assassinating, and that he was just following the orders of his captain.  This captain, Thom Rainier, is still at large, Mornay is to be executed within the week in Val Royeaux._

He glanced around the barn; save for the animals, he was alone.  He could hear Master Dennet whistling in the courtyard, but the man was busy with one of those ludicrous novelty mounts people kept sending Evelyn.  Blackwall shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and slipped the rest back into the tube.

_Condemn the person who gave the order, if you have to condemn anyone._

Blackwall held his breath,

_It’s what we do about our mistakes that define us._

A week was not a lot of time and who knew how old this report was.  If he left tonight, riding fast and hard, he could make it with a day or two to spare if this report was current.  He licked his lips and closed his eyes.

He had to tell Evelyn before he left.

“Andraste’s Tits,” he swore through gritted teeth.

_She is the end of me._

**~*~**

Evelyn glanced at the hour glass and stifled a sigh by pressing her lips together.

“Your Grace?” asked Josephine.  “We are almost done.  Just this pile left.”

Evelyn looked at the finger-width tall pile of parchment with a frown.  “Josephine,” she said, “it’s late.  We’ve been at this all day.  We can finish these reports and requests tomorrow.”

“You are scheduled to inspect the troops tomorrow, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn closed her eyes and sighed.  “Fine.  Give me the abridged version.  Or, better yet, why don’t I just give you my seal?  I trust your judgement, Ambassador.”  Evelyn pulled at the large ring on her thumb.

“Your Grace, there are important-“

“Here,” Evelyn said, setting the ring down on Josephine’s desk.  “Send me an abridged version of events and I will read them tomorrow after dinner.  Goodnight, Ambassador.”

Josephine let out a slow breath and took the ring.  She eyed Evelyn for a moment before she responded.  “Goodnight, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn fled Josephine’s office into the hall.  There were a handful of stragglers from dinner lounging at the tables.  Varric and Dorian still lingered over a flagon of wine in the far corner playing cards.  Which game, she could not tell.  Diamondback, probably.  Ever since Solas had cleared Blackwall out everyone was set on beating him at the game.  No one had yet been successful.   She gave the pair a nod and a wave, but did not stop to say hello.  She was tired, her back hurt from sitting in that damned wooden chair all day, and what she really wanted was a massage.  She had a knot in her right shoulder from an extended target practice with the new batch of recruits the day before.  She rolled her shoulder a few times before heading down to the barn.

Blackwall stood staring at the fire when she entered.  He looked up at her approach.

“Want a drink?  I’m hankering for company,” he said.

She rolled her shoulder again and was about to suggest something else, but the look on his face stopped her.  His jaw was tight, as if he was grinding his teeth, and his hands were clenched into fists.  She frowned, but nodded.

“Alright.”

The Herald’s Rest was empty save for Bull and a couple of Chargers on the far side of the tavern behind the large stone fireplace.  Grim had his head on the table, and Bull’s eye was closed.  Stitches hummed to himself as he cleaned under his fingernails with his belt knife, while Rocky glowered into a seemingly empty mug.

Cabot set down the tankard he was cleaning when they approached the bar.

“Was just about to close up,” he said.  “But seein’ as it’s you, Inquisitor, how ‘bout I leave you the key and you lock up on your way out?”

Evelyn nodded.  “Sounds good.  Upstairs too?”

The dwarf shook his head.  “Nah.  That door just leads to the Bull’s room, and if anyone is crazy enough to sneak through there, they’re welcome to the kegs.”

Evelyn chuckled.

“’Ey!  You boys!” Cabot called to the Chargers.  “Time’s up.”

Bull opened his eye and looked at the snoring Grim.  He prodded the man’s shoulder.  “Time to find your cot, Grim.  Cabot’s kickin’ us out.”

Grim squinted at him and then grunted.

It took a couple of minutes for the Chargers to stumble through the maze of tables and chairs. Rocky kept on veering into Stitches, who in turn would grasp onto anything that would hold his weight.  Bull waited until his men were through the door before he gave Evelyn and Blackwall a nod.

“Goodnight, Boss.  Blackwall.”

“Goodnight, Bull,” Evelyn said.

Bull started up the stairs.  “See you tomorrow, Cabot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cabot watched the Qunari disappear onto the second floor and shook his head.  “Between drinking and fucking I’m amazed that man gets anything done.” He glanced at the stairs again with an expression of either admiration or disbelief, Evelyn could not tell.  Cabot shrugged.  “Well then, here’s the key.  Lock it up behind me, eh?  Otherwise you’ll get all sorts trying to walk in with the light shinin’ through the windows.  Oh, that reminds me, don’t forget to dampen the fire and douse the torches.”

Evelyn grinned.  “Fire, torches, and lock the door.  Got it.  Thanks, Cabot.”

Cabot eyed her before sliding the key over to her.  “Yeah well, just don’t make me regret it, Inquisitor or not.”

Evelyn locked the door behind the tavern keeper and placed the key back on the counter.  She looked at Blackwall, who had been silent since they had left the barn.  He leaned on the bar, his hands clasped, and stared into space.  It was clear something was bothering him, but she let him be.  He would speak when he was ready.

She went behind the counter and poured a pint for both of them.  Blackwall took his with barely a nod.  Evelyn sat down next to him and waited.

And waited.

She was nearly done her beer when Blackwall sighed.  She glanced over at him.

“You seem troubled.  What’s on your mind?” she asked.

He looked at her, but avoided her eyes.  “It’s nothing.”

Maker’s Balls, it was not nothing.  She bit back her own sigh.  “You know I’m here for you.”

He frowned.  “I was thinking about when we went to the ruin.  When we found the badge.”

 _Ah_.  So they were back to this.  Evelyn watched him carefully.  He was either going to flee, or finally confront whatever it was that was holding him back.  Her stomach flipped.  Things had been going so well.  She thought they were past this, this whatever it was that held him back from loving her.  She set her jaw and waited.

“Everything seemed clear then, like I could do anything with you at my side.  Anything.” He let out a breath.  “That’s a hard word, you know.  Means a lot.”

 _Then_.  What changed?  What was happening?  Evelyn’s stomach did another flip and her breath caught in her throat.

“You mean a lot,” she said, hoping the desperation she felt did not come through in her voice.  She met his eye and gave him a soft smile.  “Let’s get out of here.”

She poured the dregs of their tankards into the slop bucket and washed them as Blackwall covered the fire in ash.  Between the two of them it took less than a quarter glass to get the tavern in closing shape.

After locking the door, Evelyn tucked the key in her pocket and smiled at Blackwall.  He smiled back and reached out for her hand.  Her stomach somersaulted at the touch.  He was not running away.

She tipped her head back and looked up at the clear sky.  “The stars are out in full force tonight,” she said.  “Look, there’s Tenebrium.  See?  There’s the wing.”  She pointed out the constellation of the owl.

Blackwall looked where she pointed and frowned.  “Tenebrium?” he said quietly.

“Oh, sorry, that’s the Tevinter name for it.  Dorian told me.  Shadow.  The owl.”

Blackwall gripped her hand tightly and they resumed their walk back to the barn in silence.

Before Blackwall could start brooding at the fire again, Evelyn pulled him toward the stairs up to the hay loft.  She grinned when the corner of his mouth quirked upward and she led him up the stairs.  At the top, she pulled him into a kiss.

“You need to know I’m not worthy of you,” he said, pulling back.  He unpinned the Warden-Constable badge from his gambeson and held it out to her.  “There is no future for us with me as a Warden.”

 _There’s more to it than that.  We both know it._   Guilt ate at him. It was obvious.  What was he keeping from her?  She looked down at the badge and shook her head.

_Oh, Grey Warden, what have you done?_

Had he murdered someone?  The wardens took all, and it made sense.  He was a soldier, had been a mercenary for hire.  A drunken tavern brawl turned sour?

_Can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?_

She could forgive him just about anything; no one in the Inquisition was without sin, but it would not matter until he forgave himself.

She placed her hands over his and cupped the badge.  “You don’t know tomorrow any better than I do.  One moment at a time.”

He swallowed and stepped forward.  “Then for now, let there be nothing else.  No one else.  Just you and me.”

She smiled at his words and caressed his cheek.  She never tired of the tickle of his beard against the palm of her hand.  “I love you, Warden-Constable Gordon Blackwall.  Know that.”

He stared at her and nodded.  She watched his throat move as he swallowed.  “And your love is what keeps me going.  What will keep me on the path of good and honour.  You are. . .  You are the only good thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Here’s to more good in the future,” she said just before their lips met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2100 hits! Andraste's Tits, folks! I never expected to get this much interest. You warm this girl's heart.


	34. Tarot

 

I took part in the summer r/dragonage gift exchange. I received this lovely tarot of my Evelyn from artist KaelanDM. You can find more of their artwork at their [DeviantArt](http://kaelandm.deviantart.com/) page or their [Society6](http://www.society6.com/wendighost) store.  
  
The next chapter is coming.  I've written and re-written it four times now.  This is the chapter that I've had in my head since I started this story.  For me, it is the most important chapter of the entire piece.  I've been frustrated with it as I've felt I haven't been able to do it justice.  I'll have you know, though, that as soon as I press "POST" for this I'm heading off to a beach, where I will be sitting all day with my notebook and pen, writing and revising.  I promise, the chapter will be here soon.


	35. Revelations

Pelting rain bounced up from the road in a churn of mud.  Evelyn hunched herself over Wicked Grace’s neck and urged the horse into a canter.  With the end of the civil war and the Inquisition’s earlier efforts to close the main rifts in the area, they were able to ride unimpeded.

“Your Grace!” Cassandra called from over the rush of rain and the pounding of the horses’ hooves.  “Your Grace!  We must save the horses.  We have a camp nearby-“

Evelyn shook her head.  “We don’t have time!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Inquisitor!”  Cullen yelled from somewhere behind her right flank.  “Cassandra is right.  We won’t reach Val Royeaux if the horses go lame.”

She ignored him and blinked at the bit of road she could see between Wicked Grace’s ears.

“Inquisitor, please!” He tried again.  The nose of his mount came into Evelyn’s peripheral vision.  “We don’t even know if Mornay is the reason-“

“I know!” Her voice broke and she swallowed a sob. 

She knew.  She suspected.  Upon reading the scrap of parchment found in Blackwall’s quarters a dozen different scenarios had gone through her mind, but when Leliana gave her report on Gordon Blackwall’s past, Evelyn began to fit the pieces together.  A Warden Constable Gordon Blackwall had never served in the Orlesian military.  There was nothing in his known past that would suggest he was involved in the Callier Massacre.  Every flinch, deep breath, and hesitation Blackwall had made when with her came flashing back.

He had tried to tell her.  Multiple times.  The Storm Coast, her quarters, the tavern. . . The hayloft. Evelyn let out a long breath.

_Condemn the person who gave the order, if you have to condemn anyone._

Her words to him echoed inside her head.  Every strike of a hoof sent it jolting through her.

_Mornay insists that he did not know who he was assassinating, and that he was just following the orders of his captain._

He was him.  This captain; Rainier.  Maker, she wanted to be wrong.  She hoped and made silent prayers that she had it all wrong, but she knew.  She knew that her efforts were for naught.

_Then for now, let there be nothing else.  No one else.  Just you and me._

Blast it all to the Fade and back, he was telling her when he said that.  He knew he was leaving.  He bloody well knew and she just-  She bit the inside of her cheek in effort to hold back a scream.

“Evelyn!” Cullen called again.  He raced next to her now.  Their knees knocked together; she grimaced at the impact.  “We need to rest the horses!”

She ducked under a low lying branch and glanced over at Cullen’s mount.  Its nostrils were red and flared.   Wicked Grace tossed his head and she noted the same on him.  Reluctantly, she nodded.  She sat back in the saddle to ease the gelding into a trot.

“The camp is just up this rise,” said Cassandra.

“You made the right choice, Herald,” said Varric who, as always, looked uncomfortable perched atop his pony.  “We’ll make it in time.” 

Evelyn watched him ride past and follow Cassandra up a steep path.  Iron Bull went next, riding that stupid dracolisk some harebrained noble sent her.  He, at least, did not bother with platitudes.  He simply rode past.  Evelyn rode up behind the Qunari, and then Leliana, who shared a horse with a bedraggled and miserable Josephine.  Cullen made up the flank.

**~*~**

“Blackwall!”

Her voice cut through the crowd and stabbed him in the gut.  Blackwall looked into the sea of faces from the hangman’s platform as his shame burrowed a hole into his stomach.  He shook his head and looked straight at her.

Evelyn stared at him, her mouth open and her brows furrowed.  Her leathers were spattered with mud and her hair was frizzy and slightly curled like it always did after rain.  She must have been right on his tail the entire time.  Half-way to Val Royeaux he noticed that the report about Mornay was missing from the inside pocket of his gambeson.  It must have fallen out in his haste to leave Skyhold undetected.

Blackwall swallowed hard.  He should have told her.  She deserved more than this.  He took in a deep breath and locked his eyes on hers.

 “No.”  _Maker, help me_.  “I am not Blackwall.  I never was Blackwall.  Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years.  I assumed his name, like a coward, to hide from who I really am.”

Mornay said something, but the roar in his ears overpowered whatever the wretched sod said.  Blackwall looked at his old lieutenant.  The man had a family once and had been a damned fine soldier.  Now he was pale-faced and broken.  All because of his own pride; his greed.  The favour of an emperor had been dangled in front of him and he had jumped for it like a starving mutt.  Blackwall bit the inside of his cheek and faced the man.

“It’s over.  I’m done hiding.”  He took in a deep breath and turned toward Evelyn.  Cullen stood right behind her.  At least she’d have him.  Cullen would keep her safe; he could trust him to do that.  Evelyn stood frozen, save for her fists.  He could see her fingers moving even from here.

 _I love you_.  _You have been the. . ._   _I love you._

“I gave the order. The crime is mine.” 

Her brow deepened. 

“I am Thom Rainier.” 

**~*~**

Cullen leaned against the stone wall and closed his eyes.  Their voices reverberated through the stone gaol, which indeed had been designed that way.  It was a useful method of keeping tabs on the prisoners and their visitors, but Cullen wished it had been designed otherwise.  He was an interloper - a voyeur listening in on their ragged conversation.  The flatness of Evelyn’s voice told him everything he needed to know.  It was the same voice that told him she was leaving in the morning to the Western Approach. 

It was the voice of a woman retreating from life.

When they had brought her back from the desert, limp in Bull’s arms, he thought he’d lost her.  He thought he would never have the chance to tell her how he felt.  He had watched her night and day as she tossed and turned in bed.  He left her side only when one of the others forced him to sleep or see to his duties.  Cassandra hovered at his elbow in the dining hall nightly to ensure he ate.  Twice he had to forcibly stop himself from walking toward the Templar’s Tower and asking for a dose of lyrium.  More times than he cared to admit he had broken down in his room, clutching at his bedclothes.

Evelyn had muttered in her delerium.  Mostly fears about Maxwell, but for every two mentions of her brother, Blackwall’s name was whispered once.  The handful of times she called out his own name were the only good moments during that ordeal.  Hope sparked each time his name passed through her lips.

Cullen clenched his fist and pushed himself away from the wall.  He wanted to throttle Blac- No.  Rainier.  To treat his men the way he did. . .  Criminal.  To treat Evelyn like this; to lie to everyone-  Cullen took in a deep breath and shook his head.  Evelyn. . . If she fell back into that emotionless haze he would kill the man, hangman be damned.

By the Maker, he felt helpless.

“Commander.”

Cullen whirled around.  Leliana handed over a report tube.

“I know people we can talk to.  We can do something about this, particularly with the current government. . .” she trailed off and glanced around the office.

The commander looked at her a moment before taking the report and nodding.  “Even if she doesn’t want to- Well, it’s good to have options open.”

“That’s what I thought.”  At the doorway she paused and laid her hand on his shoulder.  “Cassandra can wait for the Inquisitor, you needn’t-“

“No,” he shook his head.  “I should do this.”

Her mouth moved, but she stayed silent.  In the end, she nodded, gave his shoulder a pat, and left the gaol.

Cullen opened the leather case and tipped its contents into his hand. He placed the tube on the bailif’s desk and read.  The report was succinct, as most of Leliana’s reports were. Thom Rainier had indeed won the Grand Tourney, but had been a wastrel who loved cards and women in equal measures.  After two years as a mercenary, he eventually joined the Orlesian army and showed promise as a level headed and cool officer.  Rainier proved to be a good captain and even better on the field. At the onset of the civil war, the Grand Duc Gaspard, using another noble as proxy, had hired Rainier to eliminate a rival. 

Cullen pursed his lips.  So that was what Leliana had meant about the current government. . .  It also explained Blackwa- no, Rainier’s, thinly veiled dislike for the new emperor.  He had been cast aside, a useless pawn of The Game.  Cullen tried to feel sorry for the man, but it was hard.  He supposed it was honourable enough to turn himself in, but it was rather late in the game for the man’s actions to mean much.

And the way he did it.  Cullen snorted.  He made a spectacle of himself.  Why did the man wait until the hangman’s noose was around that poor lieutenant’s neck?  Why not walk into the bailiff’s office before Mornay had to deal with that sort of trauma?

Footsteps on the stairs alerted him to her arrival.

“I have Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier,” he said as she rushed passed him.  She stopped in front of the exit.  Her throat moved as she swallowed before she turned around to face him.   He watched as she rolled her shoulders back in exaggerated care. 

He gave her the report.

Evelyn looked down at the parchment in her hand, blinked a couple of times, and then passed it back to him.  “Give me the overview.”

Cullen took the sheet of parchment and began to roll it to keep himself from reaching out to her.  He told her.  She held herself erect, spine straight, with her jaw firmly clenched as he spoke.  She listened, but did not move.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.  I know what he meant to you.”

“This is helpful.  Or at least educational.”

He did not believe her; her eyes were vacant.  “Don’t blame yourself.  We all made this mistake.” 

She blinked and looked away.  He winced. 

Cullen forced himself to continue. “What do we do now?  Blackwall-“ He sighed again.  “Rainier, has accepted his fate, but you don’t have to.  We have resources.  If he is released to us, you may pass judgement on him yourself.”

“If it were up to you, what would happen?”

Cullen rubbed at his neck.  Of course she asked that question. 

Maker’s Breath he loved this woman.  He would have done anything and everything for her.  The way she smiled sent sparks through him.  When she laughed at a joke, his soul soared.  And here she was, numb and quiet, asking for his opinion on what should happen to the man who had both deceived her and torn her heart from her breast.  Something snapped inside of him.

“What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable.  He betrayed their trust; betrayed ours.” _And yours_.  “I despise him for it.”  He sneered, caught up in the anger that had been percolating for months.

Evelyn stepped back from him, frowning.  Cullen inhaled through his teeth and gave his head a shake.

“And yet, he fought as a Warden, joined the Inquisition, gave his blood for our cause, and the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it.  Why?”

She swallowed and closed her eyes.  The inner corner of her left eye glistened in the torchlight.  Cullen looked away.

“He did it for me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Cullen looked up.  _Of course he did_.  _You’re that type of woman_ , he wanted to say, but instead: “Then only you can decide if he has succeeded.”  _Oh, Evelyn_.  _I want to make you happy.  I wish I could._

She stared at him as she churned over his words.  “Have Rainier released to us,” she said at last.

“We must move quickly.  We can explore our options at Skyhold.”

“Skyhold?  They could execute him before we even get back!”

“His trial is on hold, Inquisitor,” said Leliana from the doorway.  “I have spoken with the appropriate people.  Josie is speaking to others.  We have some time.”

Evelyn pinched the bridge of her nose.  “Fine.  Whatever.  Just get him the fuck out of there.”

Cullen met Leliana’s look with a worried one of his own.

The only thing he could do to help her was to get that murderer out of the gaol.  Maker, help him.

**~*~**

 “Wine.  Antivan.  A bottle,” she growled.

The waiter’s face blanched white and he shook his head as he took a step back.  “Please, Your Grace, allow me to order a carriage.”

Evelyn glared at the mustached man

“I do not want a carriage.  I want a-“  She stared at the chevron pattern of the wine soaked tablecloth and forced herself to breath evenly.  “Fine.”  She stood and grasped the edge of the table for support.  “Fine.  I’ll find somewhere else to drink.”

The man started to yap something, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.  “I said, I’m going.  You water the piss you call wine anyway.” She pushed herself off of the table and grumbled off toward the square.

Blackwall was broken.  He had destroyed himself.

Her stomach roiled and she paused to close her eyes. 

 _One breath in, slowly out.  One breath in, slo-owly out._  

Maker, looking at him huddled in that cell like a caged beast had broken her heart.  It shattered into crystalline shards about her feet as he gripped those bars and hissed at her.  She never knew a single person could contain that much self-loathing.  He had not only caused a massacre, but he had committed treason.  He had acted against his Empress. 

 Evelyn started walking again and jumped aside from a rumbling wagon.  She stumbled and caught herself on the stone bench by a fountain.  Two women tittered behind their masks, but Evelyn ignored them.  They could laugh all they liked.  They could be trapped in a nightmare for all she cared.  Let that sodded spider take them.  She straightened herself and headed toward the docks.  The taverns there would not turn her away.

No wonder he was so set on causes; why he clung to the ideals of the Grey Wardens and the Inquisition.  He wanted to undo the past.  He wanted to make things right.  But no one can undo the past. 

No matter how much they tried.

She walked into the first tavern she saw.  Its sign depicted a sailor lying face first over a toppled barrel.  It seemed promising.

The place was nearly full, but there was an empty table in a corner next to a bucket catching the leftover drips from last night’s downpour.  A bony woman with sagging breasts and a slight limp came over to her table as she sat down.

“What’re yer ‘avin’, luv?”

“Wine.  A bottle of it,” Evelyn said.

The woman eyed her a moment and then turned on her heel with a sniff.  Evelyn snorted. 

Maker’s Balls!  She wanted to punch the man.

_And your love is what keeps me going.  What will keep me on the path of good and honour._

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

He did this for her.

For fucking her.

She did not ask for this.  She never asked for him to throw himself on his sword like a knight in an old Chantry story.  She did not owe him anything.

The woman brought over the bottle and set it on the table with a thump.  A wooden cup was set down next to it. 

“That’s twenty copper.”

Evelyn fished into her pouch and pulled out a silver.   “Keep it coming.”

The woman snatched the silver piece and bit it.  After giving it a once over she nodded and let Evelyn have her peace. 

Evelyn pulled out the cork and took a swig from the bottle.  She grimaced as the tart flavour of soured wine cascaded over her tongue.  She shook her head and scrunched her nose.  Maker, that was awful.  She took another drink.

“Well, lookee ‘ere, boys.  Someone’s bein’ free wit’ their coin.  Maybe they’d like to be sharin’ that wealth, eh?”

Evelyn looked up at the throaty voice.  The man leaned against the bar and wore a patched leather jerkin with an old rapier at his belt.  He sneered at her.

“What’s a lil’ lamb like her doin’ amongst the wolves?”

His friends chuckled.

“Fuck off,” she snarled.  She took another drink.

“What did you say?”  The man straightened, his brows furrowed over his deep-set eyes.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and stood up with a push of her chair.  “I told you to fuck off.”

He took a few steps toward her.  “No one tells me to fuck off.”

“Oh no?  Well I just did.  Kiss.  My.  Arse.”  She took a step with each word.  “You, are a snivelling goat-fucker.  You’ve got the face of a sobbing whore and I’m tired of looking at it.”

She pulled back her arm, made a fist, and swung at the sailor.  Her knuckles made contact with his cheekbone and knocked him into an occupied table.  Glasses and dice clattered to the floor.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he rasped.

She waited until he got up from the table before she kicked him in the abdomen.  He doubled over as the air was knocked out of his lungs.  She grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and growled.

“Think you can just waltz over to my table and demand my coin?”  Her fingernails dug into his neck, and she brought up her knee.  She grinned when she heard the crunch of the man’s nose.  “You are nothing.  I kill demons.  Dragons.  Do you think some little prick like you can do anything against me?” 

The man whimpered.  She snorted and spat.  “Piece of shit.”

“Let him go, boss.”

Evelyn glanced over at the large shadow coming her way.  Bull approached and stopped beside her.

“He’s not worth this.”  The Qunari shook his head and placed a massive hand on her shoulder.  “I’ve got wine in my room.  We can drink there.”

She looked down at the bleeding man and swallowed.  She let go of him and he fell to his knees while clutching his face.

She took in a deep breath and looked around the tavern.  It was silent, all eyes on her.  “He did it for me, Bull.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said as he guided her toward the door.

“Bitch!” yelled the man after her.

The Iron Bull held the door open for her.

“I didn’t want that.”

“No one would.”  The stink of fish and vomit hit them as they stepped outside.

“I’m gonna drink until I pass out.”

Bull chuckled.  “You’re on the right path, then.”

 


	36. Choice

 

 

 

> _Dearest Father,_
> 
> _You will receive this letter long after events have unfolded, but I am in desperate need to go over my thoughts and feelings with someone.  Maxwell is off on an errand for our Commander, and while Henry and I have made amends, our relationship remains strained.  I wish you were here.  I could use some of your level-headed advice right now._
> 
> _You have no doubt heard of my Grey Warden companion.  If not from one of the wild rumours then from either one of your sons who remain here in Skyhold._
> 
> _~~I love him~~.  Loved him._
> 
> _Or maybe I still do.  I don’t know._
> 
> _He has only ever shown me the light.  He was a spark of goodness amidst. . ._
> 
> _What I have seen, father-  My faith is tested every day.  Blackwall stood for what was bright.  He was helping a village defend themselves from bandits when I first met him.  He whittle ~~s~~ d toys for the children in the refugee camps; he ~~stands~~ stood for an ideal._
> 
> _And now I find it is all a lie.  He is not a Grey Warden.  Maker!  He is not even Blackwall.  He’s a murderer.  A traitor._
> 
> _But then, aren’t I both of those things as well?  Did I not put Gaspard on the throne?  Have I not killed, both by action and inaction?  Are my hands less bloodied than his?  Blood is blood regardless of whose it is and how it was spilled._
> 
> _Who am I to make judgement upon him?_
> 
> _But I am named Inquisitor.  It is my role and duty to judge him.  He sits in one of our cells even now, waiting for my command._
> 
> _He arrived in shackles from Val Royeaux yesterday evening.  Upon hearing the news that he was at the gates of Skyhold I fled to my chamber.  I could not look at him.  I could not see him broken.  Not again.  Once was enough._
> 
> _Father, I do not know what to do.  Part of me is enraged at his lies, while another part simply does not care.  And then there’s the part of me that is the Inquisitor.  What should I do?  What is right?  What is just?  What kind of stance should I take and what kind of example should I make of him?_
> 
> _I sat with Mother Giselle this morning. We read the Chant together, aloud.  I wept when we got to Andraste’s Sermon at the Valarian Fields._
> 
>  
> 
> _The one who repents, who has faith,_
> 
> _Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_
> 
> _And boasts not, nor gloats_
> 
> _Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight_
> 
> _In the Maker’s law and creations, she shall know_
> 
> _The peace of the Maker’s benediction._
> 
> _I want to believe that he has repented.  He has worked so hard to be a better person.  A good person._
> 
> _I’ve backed Cassandra Pentaghast as the next Divine.  She wishes to bring the focus of the Chantry back to charity and refuge; into a place of peace and forgiveness.  As Inquisitor, is it my job to help form that vision into a reality?  Or do I overstep myself?  I am not Divine.  I am not even a part of the Chantry.  I was cast out!  I wish not to stumble into hubris.  Should I assume the mantle of Herald of Andraste?  Is it hubris to make judgement upon a guilty man by using Her words?  Her actions?  She ascended, I am mortal.  And quite frankly, I do not believe I am Her Herald.  To believe that I am seems sacrilegious.  Ridiculous._
> 
> _If I forgive ~~Blackwall~~ Rainier I will be setting an ideal into motion; creating a precedent.  I will no doubt be called weak by the Inquisition’s detractors.  A silly woman guided by her loins instead of justice._
> 
> _But would it not be hubris to ignore the teachings of our faith?  To think that my version of justice is better than Andraste and the Maker's?_
> 
> _He rots in a cell while I linger at my desk overcome with indecision._
> 
> _I am scared, father.  For him.  For me.  For the Inquisition.  Thedas._
> 
> _How do I choose?_
> 
> _What do I do?_
> 
> _Maker, I am lost._
> 
>  
> 
> _\- Your Eve_


	37. Atone

> _Dear Father,_
> 
> _My last letter was fraught, I know, and I hope I did not give you undue worry.  That was unfair of me.  You have enough to worry about.  Has the tension lessened in the last couple of months?  Does the tower there look to rebel, or have people begun to calm?_
> 
> _How is the family?  How are Eddard and Amelie?  Henry had mentioned that Amelie was pregnant.  Am I to be an auntie?  Please convey my best wishes to my brother if that is the case, and tell Amelie. . .  Well, tell her to make sure it is a girl.  We need more women in the family._
> 
> _Blackwall is now free.  I. . .  I ordered him to atone and serve the Inquisition.  He loves me, father and I. . ._
> 
> _I am conflicted.  There is much about him to admire, and yet I feel a great pit in my stomach when I think of him.  I need time.  Things cannot simply go back to the way they were._
> 
> _I leave for Val Royeau, how I loathe that cesspool, in the morning.  We seek to speak to someone who many have ties to Corypheus’ mage commander._
> 
> _May the Maker smile on you._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Eve_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final exams in two weeks. I'm taking eight classes this semester. It's been hell. Almost done.


	38. Talk

“You ambushed me.  What was I supposed to say?  You aired everything out in public.  You put me in an awkward position.”  Evelyn glowered at Blackwall.  When he did not immediately respond she turned away with a snort and stared at the stained glass of her bedroom windows.  She gritted her teeth and wished the man would go away.

“So you did not mean what you said, in the hall.”

His voice cracked and Evelyn closed her eyes.  Her anger receded at the sound, but she kept her back to him.  She was not ready for this.  Not yet.  She wrapped her arms about herself and swallowed.

“Why did you have me freed then?  What was the point?”

She frowned.  “What was the point?”  Her stomach roiled and her fingers clenched.  What was the point?  The more she talked to him, the more she questioned her own actions.  The anger came back in a swirling mass.   She whirled around to glare at him.  “You lied to me.”  She ignored his flinch.  “You strung me along.  How many opportunities did you have?  How many times did I open myself up to you?  And how did you treat me?  You kept your real identity away from me!"  She trembled and placed a hand on her desk to steady herself.  “I loved you,” she whispered.

Blackwall looked away.  “I. . .  I couldn’t.  Maker, Evelyn, I tried.  At first it was just to save my skin, but then, but then I didn’t want to lose you.  So I-“

Evelyn cut him off with a snort.  “And in the end you lost me because you were not honest.  Don’t you get it, Blackwall – Rainier?   Whoever the blight you are!”  She threw her arms up into the air and began to pace in a circle.  “Haven’t I said it again and again?  I don’t care about what you did.”  She stopped moving to look at him.  “Every single one of us is guilty of something or another.  You were a used up pawn in the Game.  Well, so are a lot of people.”  She paused a moment.  “That is not why I am upset.”

Blackwall closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.  “I did own up-“

“Bloody well too late!”  Evelyn punctuated the retort by slamming her fist on the desk.  A rush of papers fluttered to the floor.

“I. . .  I deserve that.”

Evelyn walked over to the sofa and fell onto it.  “Yes,” she sighed, “you do.” 

Blackwall bit his lower lip and fiddled with the hem of his gambeson.  “So that’s it, then.  I’ve lost you.”

She looked up at him.  Pressure built behind her eyes and she took in a deep breath to calm herself.  Her anger was spent and was replaced by an empty ache.  “I don’t know.”

His eyes flashed with hope.

“Bla- Thom, I. . .”  She rubbed her eyes and ran her fingers up into her hairline.  “It will never be the same, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to the idea of starting again.”  She held up a hand when he stepped toward her.  “Slowly.  I need time.  I need space.  Let’s just focus on being friends right now.  I need to know you as Thom.”

“I don’t know how to be Thom Rainier.”

Evelyn’s heart sank for him.  What was so maddening about the entire situation was that she could empathize with him.  “Just deal with it one day at a time.  I can’t help you.  I don’t know Thom Rainier either.”  She stood and went back over to her desk.  She looked down at the scattered papers with a frown.  “You should go to bed.  We leave early.”  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

He winced.  “You’re taking me to Val Royeau?”

Despite herself, she rolled her eyes.  “Yes.  If you’re serious about owning up to your past then running away is not going to solve anything.  You should know that.”

She met his gaze with an upward tilt of her chin, daring him to back down.  Instead, he gave a slow nod.  He looked at her the way he looked at possible enemies.  His face was impassive and unreadable.

“As you wish.  You are, after all, in charge.”  He gave her a nod of his head and he turned toward the stairs.

“Good night, Thom,” she said in an attempt to soften her last barb.

Blackwall’s back stiffened.  He paused at the top of the stairs, hand poised on the railing.  “Good night, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn listened to his descending footfalls with held breath.  At the soft click of the door she sank to her knees and pressed her forehead against the side of the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never did like how this part of the romance storyline played out. It was a little too cut and dry for my tastes. If you're going to create so much drama, go for it, don't build it up and then sputter out. People don't work that way.


	39. Champions of the Just

Evelyn sat back on her heels and warmed her cracked hands over the command center fire.  The sooner the army got out of the Frostbacks, the better.  Morale was high for now, but if they encountered any more rockslides like they had in the morning, it would not stay that way.  The army had a long way to march yet.

She did not bother to look up when she heard the familiar crunch of Iron Bull’s boots.  “Here.  Have a drink of this.  It’ll warm you up.”

Evelyn blinked at the drinking horn he held out to her and frowned.  “I’ve had my fill of that stuff.  Once was enough.”

The corner of Bull’s mouth quirked upward.  “Suit yourself.”  He lowered himself down onto a log and took a swig.  “We’re finally going after Coryphyshit.”

It was Evelyn’s turn to smile.  “You’ve been hanging out with Sera for too long.”

“She only says what we’re all thinking.”

Evelyn did not reply.

“You haven’t been yourself lately.  People are noticing.  It’s making people nervous.”

Evelyn looked at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it.

Bull grunted.  “You’ve got this.  Anyone who can leap onto the back of a dragon and shoot an arrow into its brain can deal with some dead Vint asshole.”

She snorted.  “I did do that, didn’t I?” 

“And it was fucking great.  Ah, man, the way it roared!  Y’know, Boss, if things were different. . .”  He shook his head and grinned.  “Sure you don’t want some?” Bull asked as he thrust the drinking horn in front of her face.

The smell of it made her stomach churn.  “Really, Bull, thank you, but I’m fine.”

“Well,” he said, as he got back up to his feet, “don’t say I didn’t offer.  Have a good night.”

“Good night, Bull.”  She watched as he started down the hill to the main camp, a hulking shadow against the light of hundreds of fires.

As he was about to disappear around a tree, he stopped and turned about at his waist.  “Oh, and Boss?”

She arched a brow.  “Yes, Bull?”

“Talk to him.  Give him a chance.”

She sighed.  She did not need any clarification on who Bull was talking about.   One of the guards posted at the command center shifted her weight.   Evelyn bristled.  “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she replied.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you’re about to murder someone in a tavern.”

Evelyn flinched as she saw a soldier look quickly away from her.  She swallowed the knot of rising anger and looked hard at the Qunari.  “Goodnight, Bull.”

He stood still for a moment before he nodded and turned away.  As he disappeared around the bend she could see the silhouette of his drinking horn move up to his lips.

She went back to staring at the flames of her own fire.  She had at least a quarter glass until Cassandra and Cullen finished their inspection of camp.  Maker knew when Leliana would come up.  If she did.  Evelyn was not sure if the woman slept at all. 

In a fortnight they would be joining the Emperor’s army at Emprise du Lion, and together march to the Arbor Wilds.  This was different than the march to Adamant.  This was bigger.  Evelyn let out a slow breath.  It was. . . It was terrifying.  They were going to be meeting the enemy head on. 

This was going to be the battle for all of Thedas and she was going to be leading the assault.  A hunter in the front lines.  She shook her head.

How had she gotten here?  How had her life culminated into leading a force of united people against a long-dead magister?  The daughter of a Free March noble, cast out from the Chantry, and marked a heretic.  Herald.  Inquisitor. 

Friend.

Lover. 

She rubbed her temples and sighed.

Getting to this point had not been easy.  It had be fraught with death, pain, betrayal, and grief.  But it had also been full of laughter and hope.  It all seemed like a dream now that the climax of the story was approaching.

Evelyn straightened and gazed down at the sprawl of tents and fires in the valley below.  Thousands of soldiers were down there, all of the Inquisition and its allies, save for Gaspard.  Mage and Templar.  Dalish and human.  Qunari.  Dwarves.  Maker’s Balls, there was even a spirit, and quite frankly, she would not have been surprised if there were more than Cole among the soldiers gathered.  The wind carried the host of soldiers’ laughs and shouts up to her perch in the the command center.

“Your Grace?”

Evelyn glanced at one of the soldiers posted at the flap of her tent with a frown, and realized she had started down toward the path Bull had just left.  “I’m going to make my own inspections.  Tell the Commander and Seeker not to wait up for me.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She nodded at the soldier and then the other two stationed at the top of the path.  She quickly batted away the thoughts that these men had overheard Bull’s remarks.  It would do her no good to dwell on that.  Her relationship with Thom was well known at this point, what with the way he had carried on in the hall during his judgement.  She sighed.  Her life would never be quiet.  Not until she drew her last breath, and even that brought her no solace.  Not after Adamant.  Not after Cole.

There was no peace in death and she had no doubt in her mind that she was going to die.  A dragon was one thing, and a legendary Tevinter Magister was quite another.  Only she, out of everyone in the Inquisition, truly knew what standing before Corypheus was like.  She alone had stood up to him and had been tossed around like a rag doll.

As she stepped past a group of tents and huddled soldiers, two voices caught her attention.

“So you bagged the silver?  Sent letters the first night, then six friends by the river?”

Evelyn cocked her head to the side.  That was Varric’s voice.  What in the Maker was he up to?

“Bartered the keys and never even saw lordy.  Half the fun, but that’s all right.  Twice the take!”

And there was no mistaking Sera.  Varric’s group of. . . legitimate businessmen and Red Jenny had teamed up?  Evelyn inched around the edge of a tent and peered around the corner.  There they were, heads together, behind a wagon.

Varric chuckled.  “That was just the start, Buttercup - a maneauver to increase pressure and reward in a secondary caper.”

 “Yeah!”  Sera flashed him in a grin which was rapidly replaced with a frown.  “A what?”

Evelyn suppressed a laugh.  “You two aren’t causing too much trouble, I hope,” she said as she stepped into the light.  Satisfaction rushed through her when the conspirators jumped.

“Causing?” Varric smiled after he reeled around to face her.  He visibly relaxed when he recognized her and spread his hands out in front of him.  “No.  Harnessing is a better word.”

Sera let out one of her giggles.  “Smarty-pants here really knows how to wring them out.”

Varric shrugged.  “And how is our Herald making out?”

Evelyn smiled ruefully.  “Surviving.  We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before we get there.”

“We’ll make it,” the dwarf promised.  “We’re heroes after all.”

“I thought you said heroes died.”

“Not the ones I write about,” he countered without any hesitation.

“Right, well, I’ll let you two get back to. . . whatever it is you’re up to,” she said with a shake of her head.

Sera did not wait for Evelyn to leave before she continued where she had left off.  “That problem you had down the Bannorn?” she said with an arch of a brow Varric’s way.  “Fixed it.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed.  “Now why would you think I had concerns out that way?”

Sera just about glowed.  “I’m still better at having chatty friends.  Anyway, your caravan got away.”

“Hypothetically,” Varric said as he shifted his position so he could get a good look at the elf, “how many people did that cost?”

Sera wrinkled her nose.  “One angry cook and a side of bad pork.  The shits stop a search as well as anything.”  She cackled and slapped her knee.  “Not every plan needs days and ropes and stuff.”

Evelyn pressed her lips together and shook her head, leaving the pair to their intrigue.  Varric truly did believe they were going to get out of this alive if he was still planning ahead and up to his same old tricks.  Sera, too.  She wished she shared their optimism.

She took one of the outside paths of the camp, wanting to avoid the crowds, or possibly running into Cullen.  The last thing she wanted to do was go over more maps and contingency plans.  Every road, river, stream and rock from here to the Arbor Wilds was etched into her brain.  Their backup plans had backup plans.  Every possible, implausible and downright impossible situation had been analyzed and accounted for.  Skyhold’s courtyard was covered in raven shit.

She navigated her way to Kiall’s camp; an easy task to do as it was the source of cooking smells.  Seeing the old hunter’s face would calm her.  His inane prattle and focus on game, hunting techniques, and old stories would keep her mind occupied.

Kiall was busy ordering two farm boys, probably fifteen years old or so, to pick up the large cauldron of stew.  Other hunters had similar cauldrons and ladles.

“Ah!  Eve!” he said as she approached.  “Just in time.  Put yourself to use, eh?  The soldiers need to be fed real food, not that leather your quartermaster calls rations.  Grab a basket of bread, will ya?  You’re in charge of the south-west quadrant of camp.  The Templar section.  If you’ve reached the mages, you’ve gone too far.”  He nodded and then turned toward his contingent of hunters.  “Alright lads, you know the drill.  Off you go.”

Evelyn watched the small troop of men lift baskets of bread and hoist their cauldrons on poles.  Pair by pair they left the camp fire, until there was only one man, one cauldron, and two baskets left.

“Guess I’m with you, then,” she said without really looking at him.  She grabbed a basket and slung it by the strap over her shoulder.

“I suppose so,” came the reply.

Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat.

“Bl-  Thom,” she whispered.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”  She looked up and he stepped into the light of the fire.  Shadows danced across his face.  “You shaved.”

He grimaced and ran a hand over his chin.  “Something about learning how to be Thom Rainier.”

Evelyn swallowed and gave him a good look over.  He would have looked younger without his beard had it not been the bags under his eyes.  He had strands of grey at his temples that she had not noticed before.  She said the first thing that came to her mind.  “You look tired.”

Thom let out a choked laugh.  “I could say the same about you.”

She grunted.  “You wouldn’t be wrong.”  She bit her lower lip and looked down at the cauldron.  “Well, we can’t let our troops gnaw on leather, can we?”

“That wouldn’t be right,” he said as he grabbed a basket.  He flashed her a tentative smile. 

Butterflies erupted in her stomach as the corners of his eyes crinkled.  He was handsome without the beard.  Well, he had been with it, too, in a steady, masculine way.  Now he appeared more polished, like a captain - a winner of the Grand Tourney.  She smiled back.

She stood between the two front poles and he took up the rear.

“Ready?” she said with a glance his way.

“On the count of three,” he answered.  “One, two, thr- whoa.  This is heavier than it looks.”

Evelyn chuckled and held steady for a moment, not wanting the stew to slop over the sides “What is this, anyway?”

“Venison,” Rainier said.  “Varric will be happy about that.”  He waited until Evelyn evened out her grip on the poles.  “Ready?”

Evelyn nodded.  “Yup.  This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting when I came over here.”

Thom let out a guffaw.  “I was looking for brandy.  Kiall always has some in stock.”

“That bastard,” she said as she grasped Kiall’s plot.  She should have known Kiall would have cooked up a plan if both she and Thom arrived on his turf.

“Pardon?”

Evelyn did not have time to answer as they had arrived at the first square of tents.  The Templars greeted them with a cheer.

“Hey, Fingers!” one called out, “Grub’s here.  Stop tuggin’ the- Oh.  Your Grace.”  The man’s face went ashen.  “I didn’t-“

Evelyn laughed. “Didn’t expect me to be on kitchen duty?  As you were.”

She and Thom lowered the cauldron down to the ground.  Thom reached into the basket on her back and started handing out the rolls to the men while Evelyn unhooked the ladle from the side of the pot. 

“Alright, form a line!” she called with a lopsided grin.  “Dinner is served.” 

The young man she figured was Fingers came tripping out of a tent to her left, hastily tucking the laces of his breeches inside his waistband.  Evelyn pressed her lips into a line and averted her eyes.  She could hear a stifled chuckle come from Thom behind her.

The men ripped out the center of their rolls so she could spoon the venison stew into them like bowls.  Each bowed their head as they approached.  Some muttered their thanks, some stayed mute.  After each had been served, they waited expectantly.  Evelyn frowned.  She glanced back at Rainier when he cleared his throat.  He nodded at her and then at the waiting Templars.  Realization dawned over her;  they were waiting for her to say grace.  She swallowed.  It had been ages since she had done this. 

“Um.  Let us pray,” she said, searching her memory for a verse that could apply to their situation.  “There, in the heart of them,” she began with a tremble in her voice, “sang a Lady radiant and clad in armor of bright steel.”  A soft murmur of approval went through the group of Templars standing before her.  Her back straightened.

“She paused her song to look upon Shartan.  
And she said to him: ‘All souls who take up the sword  
Against Tevinter are welcome here.  
Rest, and tell us of your battles.’

“And Shartan told her: ‘I cannot rest  
While the People wait in darkness and fear.’  
So Andraste sent him with three of her attendants  
To invite the People to come to her side.

“And the People came, all astonished  
To stand among Andraste’s followers,  
And she gave them food and drink and bade them sit  
While Shartan gave her the tale of their uprising  
And flight from Val Dorma.

“When the tale was finished, Andraste said to Shartan:  
‘Truly, the Maker has called you, just as He called me,  
To be a Light for your People.  
The host you see before you march,  
Bearing His will north, where we shall deliver it  
To Minrathous city of magisters, and we shall tear down  
The unassailable gates, and set all slaves free.’”

Evelyn moistened her lips with her tongue.  The Templars kept their gaze lowered to the ground.

“And Shartan looked upon the Prophet Andraste  
And said: ‘The People will set ourselves free.  
Your host from the South may march  
Alongside us.’

“The giants of the South rose to their feet as one  
And bowed.  And Andraste said:  
‘It is done.  We march as one.’”

“Blessings be upon you, Your Grace,” said one man when she had finished.  “Blessings be upon Your Grace,” echoed a few of the others.

Evelyn hid her warming cheeks by turning away from them to fasten the ladle back to the cauldron.

 “How’d I do?” she asked as she and Thom left that campfire and slowly made their way to the next.

“Long, but apt.  I suppose Corypheus is a magister.”  The cauldron shifted as he shrugged.  “It meant something to them, and that’s what matters.”

“So, make it shorter is what you’re saying.”

“Well,” he coughed, “I wouldn’t mind eating before midnight, myself.”

Evelyn laughed.

The next group went the same way as the first, but instead of the Canticle of Shartan, she kept to the standard grace.

“My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours.  For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one.”

“Better,” Rainier said when they were off to the third group.

To Evelyn’s delight, Henry was there.  She had not spent much time with her brothers for a long while.  Henry had spent the last few months out in the field, recruiting mages for the Inquisition.  He had been a good apostate hunter, and Knight-Commander Barris was quick in putting his skills to similar use to benefit the cause.  Maxwell was a sergeant in the Inquisition army.  He had his own duties to attend to.

“Henry!” she called with a laugh.  He met her with a hug and thumped her back a few times.

“Evelyn.”  He held her by her shoulders and shook his head in wonder.

She beamed at him.  “I know, right?  Never thought we’d be doing this.”

“It’s an honour, sister,” he said with a bow of his head.

“Oh get off it.”  She shrugged his hands off.  “I get enough of that from everyone else.  I don’t need it from my brother.”

Henry gave her a slow grin.  “I can’t help it.”

“You’re all he ever talks about,” said an older Templar as he settled down by the fire with his dinner.

Evelyn glanced back at Rainier, who had started to serve the Templars while she greeted Henry.

Henry shot a warning look at the older man, but the Templar only laughed.  “He’s proud of you.  He is proud to serve.  We are all proud to serve the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste.”

Each Templar at the fire thumped their fists over their hearts.  Evelyn held her chin up and took the salute, even though it made her want to squirm.

“How long until we reach the Arbor Wilds?” asked Henry while he waited for his own bowl.

Evelyn pursed her lips.  “Well, it’ll be about a fortnight’s march to Emprise du Lion.  And then, well, with these numbers, probably another three until the Arbor Wilds.  The summer rains will be in full force.  It’ll be soft and muddy terrain which will be a problem for the wagons.”

“And troops,” added Rainier. 

She nodded.  “We’ll have to rotate the marching order, so not everyone is either blazing the trail or knee deep in mud.”

Thom fastened the ladle to the cauldron and stood straight.

 “Well, your brothers in arms are still waiting for their supper.”  Evelyn smiled at Henry.  “May you walk in the Light.”

Henry leaned forward and kissed her forehead.  “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

She squeezed his arm before she turned away to help carry the now lighter cauldron.

The Templars were grateful for the hot food.  They smiled when she arrived, gave thanks and blessings both.  She laughed and asked after their well-being.  Thom seemed to know many of them by name and exchanged jokes and shared quips.  Each fire burned more brightly than when they arrived.

The Templar encampment was the smallest, save for perhaps the mages’, and she and Thom were finished with their duties long before the rest of the hunters.  They returned to Kiall’s campfire and scraped the rest of the stew into their own bread bowls after Thom stoked the fire back to life.

Without a task to keep them occupied and working together, Evelyn suddenly felt at a loss of what to say.  It felt good to have him sitting next her, even if they kept their own counsel.  They ate without speaking, only the crack of the flames and the occasional shout or laugh from the neighboring fire punctuating the silence.

When she had finished the last of the broth soaked bread, Evelyn spoke.  “He did this on purpose.”

Thom looked at her and nodded.  “Aye.”

“Wanted to get us talking again, I suppose.”

“Probably.”

Conversation stilled.  Evelyn watched the blaze and the dancing puff of sparks and ash.  Thom stretched out his right leg and massaged his knee.

“I miss you,” she whispered.  She snuck a glance from the corner of her eye to catch his response. 

“Maker, Evelyn.”  His voice broke.

She reached out her calloused hand and took his rough one into her own.  He looked up at that.

“I’d like to have you by my side. . . If, if you still want to be there.”

Thom swallowed, and his hand tightened around hers.  “I never wanted to leave it.”

Pressure built behind her eyes, and she sniffled back a sob. “Stay with me?  Tonight, and every night?”

He met her eyes with his own.  He opened his mouth, but then closed it.  Her heart plummeted to her feet and she began to pull her hand from his, but he caught it tightly.

“I was a fool once,” he said.  “I refuse to be a fool again.  Tonight, and every night.  Every day.  Every moment.  I love you, Evelyn.”


	40. Emprise du Lion

> Dearest Daughter,
> 
> It warms my heart to hear that you have made amends with Ser Rainier.  And before anyone gets their hackles up about that title, know that I have entered him into the family lists as a Knight of House Trevelyan, in appreciation of services rendered.  He has guarded our daughter and kept her from harm’s way. 
> 
> The title also appeases your mother.
> 
> Edward and Amelie are indeed expecting their first child.  To think, I will be a grand-father.  It should not be long now.  Amelie has taken to bed for the past two weeks, though all is well says the midwife.  Your mother seems to trust the woman’s word, and she knows more about these matters than I.  If the babe is a girl, they plan on naming her Evelyn.
> 
> Do you have news of the troop sent from Ostwick? We sent them by ship when we received your call. They were to muster in Orlais.
> 
> Please, keep me informed of your progress.  I love you, Evelyn.  I have never felt more pride for anything.  My heart is bursting. 
> 
> Andraste bless you.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Father

 

 

> Dearest Father,
> 
> We have joined with Emperor Gaspard’s forces in Emprise du Lion.  The Emperor has decided to join us personally upon this venture.  He brings nearly eight hundred men.  Our host is swelling far beyond my expectations.  More and more soldiers join us as we march through Orlais.  We are a travelling city; progress has been slow.
> 
> Ravens arrive almost daily, carrying reports from the Wilds.  Our agents have been successful in harrying Corypheus’ supply lines.  We find solace in the fact that the enemy’s progress is slower than ours.
> 
> Every day we get closer.  The troops grow more restless, there’s a constant murmur in the camp.  I spend a lot of time walking through the fires, talking to my soldiers.  It serves them well to see their Inquisitor.  It was awkward at first, but I have accepted my role.  My troops need me.  Whether I believe it or not, I am their Herald.
> 
> Your soldiers arrived this morning, along with an Orlesian militia.  Their ship had been blown off course, and we were already in Orlais before they were on land.  Please, send my personal thanks to the Banns that had sent members of their guard.  Ambassador Montilyet will be sending our official thank you to each of them.
> 
> And that is happy news about Edward and Amelie!  It brings me great joy to read those words.  Give them my love and well-wishes!
> 
> Once the supplies are loaded, we march to the Emerald Graves.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Evelyn
> 
> P.S.  Could you convince them to call her something else?

 

 


	41. The Arbor Wilds

“Incoming!”

The ground shook and a spray of soil, rock and vegetation rained down on the Inquisition forces.

“Get those ballistas in formation!” bellowed Cullen over the roar of battle.

Soldiers screamed as Red Templars came rushing through the gap in the barricades. 

“Protect the Emperor!” An Orlesian captain called to her men as she struggled back to her feet; blood flowed from her shoulder.

Evelyn ran out of the command tent, Leliana by her side.

It had happened. Corypheus’ forces had broken through the camp defenses. 

“Inquisitor!” cried Cullen’s voice.

Evelyn swung around in his direction.  Her eyes went wide and she pushed Leliana off to the side and out of the path of a shooting bolt of red lyrium.  A red Templar came thundering toward her, bloodied sword raised for a blow.  She leapt back in a flip while she reached into her quiver for an arrow.  It was notched and ready to fly by the time her feet were back on the ground.  She fired.  The arrow glanced off his chest plate, but Iron Bull charged right into him, slamming the Templar to the ground.  Evelyn sighted and fired again just as Bull bore the full force of his massive two-handed axe down into the prone foe.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen called her again.  “The east barricade has fallen!  We must close the breach.”

“On it!” she yelled back.  She looked wildly around.  Bull was pulling his axe out of the corpse of the red Templar.  Evelyn spotted Solas casting a barrier to protect the ballistas, and Rainier was swinging his sword, fighting to get near her.  
  
“Solas, Thom, Bull- to me!” she screamed, her voice breaking.  “We’ll cut them off from the south.  To me!”

Thom growled, crashed his shield into the face of red Templar in his way, and shoved himself past to her side. 

“Follow Krem!” Bull roared at The Chargers before hurrying toward her.

Evelyn sprinted toward the cliff path that would take them around to the east section of the river where the Inquisition had set up fortifications.  Sheer rock towered on each bank making it a perfect spot for a bottleneck.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Solas dart past an abomination and come barreling to her side.

Her squad ducked under the overhang of arbor’s blessing and dashed down the trail.

“They’re getting bolder,” Thom said as they ran.

Bull laughed.  “They’re gettin’ scared.  They know we’re on to them.”

“Corypheus will want to halt our advance at any cost.  We must not let him.”  Solas said from Evelyn’s elbow.

“Maker’s Light, we won’t,” she answered.

The path veered north east.  As they rounded the bend, the sound of battle could be heard.

“They’re still alive!” Evelyn cried.  She launched herself forward.

They erupted out onto the bank of the river, behind the Inquisition’s line.  A handful of Inquisition soldiers stood, holding their ground against the onslaught of the Red Templars.  None of them had time to think as Corypheus’ corrupted soldiers flowed through the narrow breach.

Bull and Thom rushed into the fray, weapons flashing in the rays of light that filtered through the tree canopy of the Arbor Wilds.  Both Evelyn and Solas hung back to provide supportive fire.

On the other side of the barricade something shrieked.  Evelyn’s blood went cold.

“Shit.” A behemoth.  She bolted out of the way.  “Watch it!” she screamed.  “Back from the wall!”

The palisade crumpled and splinters of wood went flying inward as the hulking atrocity ripped its way through the Inquisition defenses.  A log split in half and was projected straight through the back of a soldier as he tried to get away from the corrupted beast.  His mouth went wide, his eyes dimmed, and he fell to his knees before keeling over.  The behemoth stamped down on the fallen soldier’s head in a spray of blood.

Thom raised his shield and ducked under a massive swing of the behemoth’s glowing lyrium blade.  “Take it down!”

While the group concentrated on the colossal Templar, Evelyn focused on the Red Templar grunts surrounding it, picking them off one by one.

“Little help!” Bull called. 

Evelyn whipped her attention toward the Qunari.  He must have taken a serious hit from the Behemoth- his chest dripped blood.

“Coming!” answered Solas.  The mage leapt from his position on a ledge and hurried toward him.  “Away with you!” he snarled as a Red Templar came at him.  He blasted the man with a ray of frost.

“Solas, get back!” ordered Rainier.

Evelyn gasped as the behemoth turned its attention toward the racing elf.  “Solas needs help!”  She fired at the monster, but was unable to stop if from slamming a gigantic fist straight into Solas’ shoulder.  He staggered back against the cliff face.

“I told you to stay back!” Thom screamed as he charged the behemoth.  “Die, you beast!”

“We’ve got your cover!” came a cry from behind Evelyn.

She glanced back as a line of arrows went flying toward the raging monster.  She grinned at the sight of an Inquisition squad coming up to reinforce their position.  She spotted the unmistakable red plume of her brother’s helmet.

“We’ve got you, Eve!” yelled Maxwell.

As Rainier and Bull worked to pull the beast away from their fallen comrade, Evelyn dashed toward him.  She pulled a small vial from the holster on her belt and bit off the seal.  She spat out the wax as she poured the red liquid down Solas’ throat.  After a moment, he sputtered and coughed.

“Not yet, Solas,” she whispered.

He coughed again and gave her a quick nod before he pushed himself back up to his feet.

Maxwell’s squad had made quick work of the Red Templars and had now teamed up with Bull and Thom against the behemoth.  She pulled Solas with her toward the other archers to work as one unit to dispatch the unholy creature.

The thing roared its fury at them as every weapon focused on it.  With care and practiced precision, they cut it down.

“Get that barricade back up!  No time to waste,” Evelyn ordered as the behemoth fell.

“Sappers!  Get in there,” hollered Maxwell.  A group of soldier who had hung back during the fight came wading through the shallow water, carrying tools.  He nodded at her.  “The camp is cleared.  Catapults are on their way to help defend this position.  We’ll be ready for the next push.”

Evelyn pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and then looked down at the blood smeared onto her skin. 

“Good,” she said.  She wiped her hand on her breeches.  “We can’t let this happen again.”  Gritting her teeth, she turned to look at her companions and gave them the once over.  “How is everyone?”

Solas gave her a slow smile.  “I’ll survive.  Thank you.” 

Bull grinned at her as he swallowed a healing potion.  “Never better.”

“You’re hurt,” said Thom.

“It’s superficial,” she said with a wave of her hand.  “Head wounds always look worse than they are.” 

“Eve.”

Evelyn smiled and turned toward Maxwell as he strode up to her.  “Good to see you,” she said, clasping his hand tightly in her own.  “Andraste bless you.”

“And you, sister.  May you walk in the light.”

The siblings met each other’s gaze.

Maxwell give her a firm nod.  “We’ll hold.”

Evelyn swallowed and nodded slowly in return.  She straightened her back and broke from her older brother to stare down at the behemoth corpse.

“It’s time we pushed back.”


	42. The Place Between

Evelyn crashed through the mirror and stumbled straight into Bull.  He caught her arm just as the eluvian pulsated in a great rush of energy and sent them both flying.  Evelyn slammed into the ground and gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of her. 

“Evelyn!” Thom cried as she flailed about. He rushed over to her, eyes wide.

Her fingers dug into his arm.  While she was aware that she would be fine, it did not make the sensation of fighting for breath any less terrifying.  She coughed and curled into the fetal position.

The mirror flashed behind them, and then went black.

Evelyn took in deep breaths, while Thom rubbed slow, calming circles on her back with the palm of his hand.

Solas turned from the closed mirror, leaned on his staff and regarded the world between the eluvian, his face an unreadable mask.  “Emma arla,” he whispered.

Morrigan pushed up to her feet and shook her head.  “Ma dar’banal atisha?”  She grasped a pale tree branch to steady herself.

Solas looked at her with studied care.  “Mala suledin nadas Mythal’enaste,” he said coldly.

“Where the fuck are we?  This isn’t more of that Fade shit, is it?” The Iron Bull asked, his hands clenched around the handle of his double-bladed axe.

Morrigan frowned at Solas.

Breathing again, Evelyn pushed herself up into a sitting position and glanced with concern at the witch.  To Bull, she answered, “The Crossroads, Morrigan called it.  The place between.”  She smiled at Rainier and reached out a hand.  “The Elvhen created this place.”    Thom pulled her back up to her feet.

The Qunari’s axe lowered just a fraction.  “So it’s not the Fade?”  Bull scratched his head and wrinkled his nose at his surroundings.

“No,” said Solas. “It is not the Fade.  The Inquisitor was fair in her summation.” He nodded at Evelyn and started to walk ahead.

Bull scowled and followed him.  “Not sure if that makes things better or worse.  Bad enough there were two places to worry about.  Now we’ve got three.” 

“There is nothing to fear here,” Solas said from over his shoulder.

“Except Corypheshit blasting through that thing,” the big man said, with a jab of his thumb in the direction of the mirror they had just exited.

Solas shook his head.  “The guardian at the Well of Sorrows took care of that.  That pathway is closed."

  
Evelyn eyed the elf and wondered how he knew that, but she pushed the thought aside to think about later.  They had more immediate matters to deal with, like getting back to the real world.  She approached Morrigan, who still clutched the tree branch for balance.

“How are you?”  Evelyn asked her with a tilt of her head.

The mage looked up at her in surprise.  “Yes.  I will be fine.  Thank you.  I’ll need time to sift through this.  They all speak to me at once.  So many voices.”  She swallowed.  “It will need getting used to.”

Evelyn watched her and then nodded.  “Alright then.  Will you be able to find an Eluvian that will take us. . .”  Where were they going to go?  The army was still in the Arbor Wilds along with the bulk of her advisors.  Was there another eluvian in the arbor wilds?  “Well, we know there’s an eluvian in Skyhold, at least.”

Morrigan nodded.  “Yes.”  The woman straightened and lifted her chin.  “I-  I’ll be able to guide us there.”

Bull whirled around to stare at them.  “You mean to tell me there’s one of these things at Skyhold?  Fuck, Boss.  I don’t like this.”

Thom spoke up. “When we get back to Skyhold we should send a raven to the commander to inform them of our whereabouts.”

Evelyn squinted at him. “Yes.  I agree.  I hope Corypheus isn’t-“

“They’ll hold,” Thom said.  He squeezed her shoulder.

“I hope so.”  Evelyn swallowed.  Her brothers.  Kiall.  Cullen, Leliana. . .  Her old recruits.  Adelaide.  The Chargers.  More than half of those she cared about were there to face the monster’s wrath.

**~*~**

“Pacing will not bring an answer faster,” Thom chided her.  “Come inside.  There has not been enough time for the raven to have reached them, let alone for them to have sent a reply.”

Evelyn turned to look at him through the strands of hair the wind whipped across her face.  She pushed it from her eyes with a scowl.  She needed a haircut.  Thom smiled and held out his hand.  Reluctantly, she took it. 

“I can’t relax until I know,” she said.  She looked back over the ramparts and past the crags and peaks of the Frostback Mountains.

Blackwall led her down the stairs from the battlements into the upper bailey.  “You will find out soon enough.  Come, a bath was set up.  And there’s mulled wine.”

Evelyn sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder.  He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close as they walked toward the keep.  Her neck and shoulders were a bundle of knots and a tension headache blurred the edges of her vision.  Perhaps a bath was a good idea.

The bath did little to stop the clenching of her stomach.  It did, however, warm the chill in her bones and help alleviate some of the muscle tightness.  Thom wrapped her in her robe and settled her on furs in front of the fire.

“You’ll make yourself sick with worry,” he said as he passed her a goblet of wine.

She took the cup and held the mulled wine up to her face in order to inhale the rich aroma of honey, cinnamon, and cloves.  He sat next her and she snuggled under his arm.

“I fear for them,” she said.

Rainier brushed his lips against her forehead.  “I know.”  He kissed her just above her right brow.  “As do I.”

**~*~**

Evelyn swore and brought up her shield just as Thom’s sword came at her in a wide arc.  She staggered from the impact.  Her shield arm was growing fatigued and she was sure she was going to be covered in bruises after this.

“There we go!” he said, encouragingly.  “That’s how you use a shield.”

Just as he was about to press his advantage, Evelyn surged forward and shield-bashed him.

“Your Grace!”

Evelyn spotted a running figure in the corner of her eye, but kept on with her offensive.  She stabbed with her sword. Rainier was ready for the attack and knocked her blade aside with his own. 

Thom laughed.  “Now you’re catching on.  Don’t directly look at where you’re going to strike.  A skilled swordsman will notice.”

“Your Grace!  A raven!  From the Arbor Wilds, Your Grace!”

At those words Evelyn dropped her weapon and leapt the fence around the practice ring.  The elven girl pushed the roll of parchment bearing Leliana’s seal into her hands.  She cut the wax with her belt knife and unrolled the missive.

> _Your Worship, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste,_
> 
> _We are relieved to hear that you are well.  When you did not return from the ruins we feared the worst.  There was a burst of light in the sky and then Corypheus flew off on his dragon soon after.  Morale has risen dramatically since we received word from you._
> 
> _The army has begun the slow march back to Skyhold.  The commander, myself, and your companions will ride ahead of the army and switch horses at Inquisition posts._
> 
> _We look forward to hearing what happened within the ruins.  We have much to discuss._
> 
> _Tell Josie to expect us in just over a month if the weather allows.  The rains have started._
> 
> _With reverence,_
> 
> _Seneschal of the Inquisition_
> 
> _Leliana_
> 
>  

Evelyn wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand.  “They’re safe,” she breathed.  “Corypheus quit the field after we made off with the Well.”

“Thank the Maker,” Thom said in response.

Evelyn smiled for the first time in a week and rested her cheek against his gambeson.

Thom ran his fingers through her hair.  “Come on.  It’s time you got some sleep.”

She laughed and looked up at him.  “Yes.”  Her body relaxed in a rush.  “Yes.  I think that would be best.”

She did not complain when Thom picked her up and carried her into the keep, through the hall, and up the tower stairs to their room.  The last thing she remembered was being laid upon the bed and Thom untying her bootlaces.

 

When she awoke, the sun shone through the curtains along the foot of her bed.  She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and sat up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Thom said from the loveseat.  He smiled at her from over a book.  “There’s breakfast by the fire.”

Evelyn yawned and slowly slid out from the warmth of the blankets.  She shrugged into her robe and padded over to the breakfast table.  Scratching her chin, she sunk into the wing-backed chair.  “How long was I out?” she asked around a yawn.

Thom set a marker in the book and closed it.  He arched a brow.  “Care to repeat that?”

She grinned.  “How long was I out?”

He glanced outside.  “Sixteen turns of the glass thereabout.”

Evelyn whistled.  “And Josephine let me sleep that long?”

Thom set the book down next to him and stood up.  “Not much for us to do right now.  We wait until the others get here.”  He sat down in the chair across from her and reached for the jug of ale.

“You mean, we have over a month to ourselves?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Maker’s Breath!”  She stared at him dumbfounded.  “A month?  Blac- Thom,” she winced inwardly at the slip, “I don’t know what to do.  That. . . A month!”  Since joining the Inquisition she had been lucky to find a half-glass for herself let alone a month.

Thom laughed and poured her a mug.  She took it and set it down in front of her plate.

“We could stay up here for a few days, to start,” he suggested as she got up to go to the privy closet.

She paused at the door, hand on the stone edge of the arch.  Her face lit up in a slow smile.   “I like the way you’re thinking.”

He poured himself a mug and chuckled before stabbing a sausage onto the end of his fork.

She performed her regular morning rituals.  Bladder empty, faced washed, and hair combed, she settled herself back at the breakfast table, folding one leg under the other.  Thom watched her, a smile playing on his lips.

“What?”

He shrugged.  “I do not deserve you.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward.  “Oh, Andraste’s Tits, not this again.  I thought we were past this.”  She wrinkled her nose and reached for an apple.

“I’m sorry, I- I find it hard to believe some times.  When you spend so much time runni-“  He stopped and shook his head.   “I never expected to find you.  Evelyn, I love you.  You are. . . You are an angel.  An angel of mercy and compassion.  I would do anything for you.”

“If I were Sera I’d threaten you with violence, but lucky for you, I’m not.”  She reached across the table and entwined her fingers in his.  “I love you, too, Thom.  Having you by my side strengthens my resolve.  We’ll hit Corypheus so hard he won’t know what happened.”

He beamed back at her and lifted his mug with his free hand.  “Here’s to saving the fucking world.”

She lifted hers in reply.  “To saving the fucking world.  Together.”

 

 


	43. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos! Nearly 3000 hits! 
> 
> You guys!
> 
> I truly never expected this. When I started this fic I was nervous and scared. I had never worked with other people's IP before, particularly with characters that had an established fandom. I was late to the party and started this story almost a year after the game was released. I hoped for fifty hits. I thought any more than that would be wistful thinking. You are all wonderful. 
> 
> Thank you.

Evelyn’s advisors and companions made it back to Skyhold a little earlier than predicted.  Their sudden arrival felt like an intrusion after a month of peace.  Meals were no longer quiet affairs in Evelyn’s quarters with Josephine and Blackwall seated around the small table in front of the hearth, but in the hall with Cassandra and Varric bickering loudly at the end of the long table, Vivienne droning on about the appalling state of the Circle, and Sera shouting obscenities at any opportunity she got.

Maxwell, Henry, and Kiall were still with the army, marching through the Emerald Graves by all reports.

A part of Evelyn felt guilty for feeling resentment at her friends’ return, but another part, the larger part, understood that she was ready for this to be over.  Instead of the month’s long rest refueling her, it had sapped her drive.  The offense in the Arbor Wilds had been anti-climatic.  All the grand assault had done was prolong the fight.  She had run from Corypheus, fled through a magic mirror in terror.

Both Solas and Morrigan were sure Corypheus would come to them.  He was desperate, they agreed.  His forces were destroyed and the Inquisition had foiled his plans for the Well of Sorrows.  Evelyn trusted their judgement.  Morrigan had managed to ensnare an old god's soul and somehow fit it into the body of her son. She been raised by a goddess and now had centuries worth of elven wisdom floating in her head.  And then Solas!  Well, he was a riddle.  Evelyn suspected she was missing something about him; there were things the elf withheld, she was sure.  He knew so much, yet shared little.  He could speak and read elven fluently.  There was no reason he could not have interpreted that pillar in Mythal’s temple, save for the simple fact that he chose not to.  That elven sentinel, Abelas, seemed to respect him.  Why?  

Solas had said something in elven to Morrigan when in the Crossroads.  Whatever he said, it had surprised the woman.  Morrigan had been watching Solas from a distance ever since they had returned to Skyhold.  Evelyn did not pretend to know the woman well, but she did know that Morrigan was shrewd.  She suspected or knew something about Solas, or she would never pay so much attention to the comings and goings of a solitary elf.

Evelyn sighed.  Solas’ mystery would have to wait until Corypheus was finally dealt with.  Whatever the elven mage was hiding could not be worse than an ancient Tevinter magister trying to destroy the world.  And Maker knew, she might not be alive after all of this to solve the mystery.  Let someone else deal with that.  

One thing at a time.

“Is something wrong, Inquisitor?” Cullen looked up from the map the advisors were crowded around.

“Pardon?”  Evelyn started.  “Oh, sorry.  It’s just this waiting.  I’m ready for a resolution.”

“My people should have information on Corypheus’ whereabouts soon, Inquisitor,” Leliana said.  “And if our mages are correct, we should not have long to wait until he shows his hand once more.”

Evelyn pursed her lips and ran a hand through her hair.  She still needed to get that haircut.  It would do her no good to have it falling into her face while fighting.  She had no patience to fuss with it.

“Right,” she said.  She pushed her stool back and stood.  “There’s not much to talk about if all we’re doing is waiting.  Good night.”

Josephine frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but Evelyn pretended she did not notice and swept out of the war room.  Her stomach felt hollow and her head throbbed.  The thought of food made her feel ill.  Sleep was difficult and being awake felt like a chore.  She was. . .  Maker’s Balls she needed to- to punch Corypheus right in the face.  

Maybe Sera was onto something.

Instead of entering the hall, she descended the stairs into the bowels of Skyhold and cut through the kitchen to get to the stables.  At this hour there was only a lonely scullery maid scrubbing pots.  Evelyn nodded at the girl and waved her hand to let her know to continue what she was doing.  Let the girl finish her work in peace.

It was still in the lower bailey, save for the soft sound of a hammer tapping against a chisel.  Evelyn smiled.  Thom had been working on that rocking griffon for days.  She could picture him out in his workshop at the back of their house, making toys for the village children.  He’d give up the sword and settle down as a carpenter, while she would. . . Take care of the bann’s forest?  Be a master hunter like Kiall?  

Her heart lurched.

It was a fruitless dream.  That future would not be theirs.  How could it?  Even if by the Maker’s grace she survived this ordeal, she was a noble.  How could the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste just disappear into a rural, domestic life?  She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.  It was best to keep those thoughts locked away.  

Her boot scuffed against a cobblestone, and Thom looked up from his work.  

“It’s almost time,” she said from the doorway.  “Are you ready?”

Thom set down his hammer and shook his head.  “No.  Not at all.”  He reached for her hands and brought them to his lips.  “I already lost you once.  Now I might lose you again.”

She stepped closer to him and they touched foreheads.  They stood like that for a few breaths, taking solace in each other’s presence.

“Maybe a drink is in order,” she said.  Her smile did not reach her eyes.

“Yes.  We’ll approach Corypheus in a stupor.  We won’t feel a thing when death hits us.”  He snorted and pulled back.  “As much as I like the idea, I might have to decline.”  He leaned against a supporting beam and closed his eyes for a moment.  “One thing’s certain,” he said.  He straightened.  “I’ll fight harder than any man out there.  I’ll fight harder than I ever have.  There’s always something to die for, but something worth living for. . .”  He swallowed, his eyes sad.  “That doesn’t come every day.”

Evelyn reached out and caressed his face.  “I love you too, Thom.”

He covered her hand with his own and held it there.  “Come back to me, Evelyn.  I need you to believe that you’ll come back.”

Her throat closed and she looked away.

“Hey,” he whispered, his brow furrowed.  He nudged her chin upward with a crooked finger.  “Evelyn, promise me you’ll come back.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffed.  “Thom, that’s not a promise I can-“

“Promise me.”

She looked up at the urgency in his voice.  His eyes were bright with unspilled tears and he looked at her so earnestly that she. . .  She swallowed again and pressed her lips together in a tight line.  She closed her eyes as her own tears began to fall.  His fingers brushed the hair from her face while his thumb traced the line of her jaw.

She blinked through the tears and met his gaze.  “I’ll try,” she croaked.  She blinked again.  “I’ll try my damndest.”

He nodded silently and pulled her against him.  She laid her cheek against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We’ll kill the bastard.  You and me.  You’ll see,” he whispered into her hair.

She breathed in the scent of him and clutched him close, desperate to believe.


	44. Memories Dwell Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. One more chapter after this one.
> 
> I cried while writing it.
> 
> Enjoy.

Thom watched her slip from the guests of the victory feast toward the door to their quarters.  He grinned.  Some things never changed, and he was glad for it.  He followed her, and when he said something, she gave him one of the sultriest come hither stares he’d ever seen her give.  His breath caught in his throat as she backed out of the hall, looking up at him through thick lashes.  He took her cue and left the feast for the rest of the Inquisition to enjoy.

The door shut behind them and Evelyn pressed herself against him so suddenly that he fell back against the door.  Her lips bruised his, and her hands plucked at the laces of his gambeson.  He laughed, a warm glow spreading through him in a way he had forgotten was possible.  This woman, this wondrous creature, wanted him, Thom Rainier; a right bastard by all accounts.  All, but her own.  He was under no illusions; she had saved him.  She had given him the opportunity to do something with his life, make up for all the shit he had put others through. 

She smelled of that honeysuckle and citrus perfume she sometimes wore, mixed with a heady trace of leather and spiced wine.  He inhaled her scent and laughed again as she struggled to pull his gambeson over his head.

“Patience,” he rumbled as he nibbled at her ear lobe.

She gave him a dark look, but ruined the effect with a pout.  He chuckled and picked her up in one sweep, hooking one arm under her torso, and the other behind her knees.  She giggled and kicked her feet before she snaked her arms around his neck.  He carried her up the stairs

“You should know by now that I don’t have any,” she said.

Thom kissed the top of her head.  “We both know that’s not true.  You waited for me to get my head out of my ass.”

She did not respond until he set her down on the rug in the center of their room.  She slid her arms about his waist and trailed her lips across his jawline.  “I almost didn’t wait,” she murmured.

Thom closed his eyes as she focused her attention on the soft spot where his neck met his collarbone.  Technically, she hadn’t waited, he thought, though he did not voice it out loud.  He had driven her straight into Cullen’s arms.

He pulled back and raked his gaze up the length of her.  She wore her favourite leathers with the white nug skin jacket she always wore when lounging about the keep.  It was soft from wear and the cuffs had started to crack.  This was his Evelyn; his hunter.  She had not worn a dress since their first real night together, and Maker, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He began unbuttoning her jacket, his thick fingers clumsy with the small brass buttons. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” he asked quietly.

Evelyn snorted, but smiled.  She was always smiling now that Corypheus was dead.  The dark bags beneath her eyes had vanished and she looked years younger.  He felt dirty next to her, an old man clinging to a dream that someone as young, as beautiful, and _damned capable_ , could want a washed up asshole like him.

 “The destination was worth the journey,” she said, pushing his hands aside.  She unbuttoned the jacket and let it fall to the floor.  The cotton chemise underneath was so thin it was nearly sheer.  He could make out the curve of her breasts, the brown circles of her nipples, and the slope of her waist and hips.

Thom ran a hand from her hip, and slid it under the hem of the chemise.  Her skin was warm against his calloused hand.  He grazed the tips of his fingers against a long scar on her stomach, a souvenier from the dragon they slew by the raging sea in the Storm Coast.  The thick, yet short, scar above that, just below her breast, had been given to her by a crazed Templar’s sword.  She had a small nick, just above her right nipple, and he ran his thumb over it.  Her chest rose in a sudden inhalation, her nipple hardening beneath his touch.  He smiled.  That was from a terror that had burst from the ground beneath her feet and sent her sprawling into a clump of dead wood.  He had been present for all of them.  Her scars told their story.  Inwardly, he winced.

“I’ll never tire of how you see the best in everything. . .” He looked her in the eye, wonderingly. “And everyone.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she raised up onto her toes and kissed him.  Her lips were soft, and he loved how full her bottom lip was; how it felt against his.  She took hold of his hand and led him toward the bed.

His chest felt full to bursting.  The sight of her own chest rising and falling in quick successive bursts sent a radiant swell of heat through his loins.  Maker, he wanted this woman.

“What did I do to deserve that smile?” he wondered aloud.

In answer, she pulled him down and held him close by wrapping her legs around his waist.  He lost himself in a tangle of limbs and was made whole.

 

**~*~**

 

“You think that was the last of them?” Thom asked as he coaxed life into the campfire.

Evelyn looked up, tent peg and hammer in hand.  “In the Emerald Graves?  I think so.  I don’t feel anything else here.”  She hammered the peg into the ground with four heavy thumps.  She glowered at it.  No way it was going to come lose in the night this time.  “I won’t lie, I’ll be glad to have closed all of the rifts.”  She wrinkled her nose and swiped her matted from her brow.  She still needed to cut it.  She secured it from her face with ribbon these days.  “I wish it had been the last.” 

She looked down at her left hand and flexed her fingers.  The mark had grown larger since defeating Corypheus and closing the breach.  The green gash now engulfed her entire palm and threatened to spill up her wrist.  The tingle was constant; a light burning sensation that would have been pleasant if it did not periodically give her an electrified jolt which travelled up her arm, through her shoulder, and to her chest, leaving her doubled over in pain.

“Bothering you again?” he asked, his voice quiet and low.

She glanced up at him and then quickly away when she saw the worry in his brow.  She swallowed.  “Without Solas, I’m not sure. . .”

“Dagna-“

Evelyn cut him off with a shake of her head.  “Dagna is just as perplexed as I am.  Before he left for Tevinter Dorian examined it.  I even let Vivienne take a shot, though quite frankly I don’t think she tried very hard.  As far as that woman is concerned, I am no more use to her.”  She sighed.

Thom frowned at the small flames licking at the kindling.  “Back to Skyhold in the morning?”

“No.”  She looked up from her hand.  “The Western Approach and then the Hissing Wastes.  That should be the last of them.  Let’s just get it over with.  We can pick up supplies and soldiers at the next outpost.  Besides, I don’t know how long Josephine can hold off that Exalted Council.  If we go back, there may be a summons.  If we’re on the road we can avoid it for a bit.  Ferelden is putting a lot of pressure on Cassandra.  I do not envy her position.”

Thom snorted.  “What about yours?”

Evelyn hit the last peg with her hammer and scowled.  “No one should envy mine.”  She hit the peg again and stood up straight when she was satisfied that the tent was secure.  “Once we’re done with these rifts I think-  Well, I think they have a point.”

Thom put a few more twigs into the center of the fire and waited for her to continue.

She tossed the hammer on the ground by her pack and crouched down next to him. “We’ve done what we set out to do.  I don’t see any reason why we should continue.  Most of our friends have left.  We were formed for a single purpose, and once those rifts are sealed, our purpose is fulfilled.”

“So it’s not selfish for me to wish you were no longer Inquisitor?” he asked.

She grunted and shook her head.  “Not at all,” she said. “I want the same.”

He smiled and patted her thigh.  She gave him a small smile in return before she rose and unpacked the mess kit.  She pulled out the collapsible tripod and pot, along with her packet of herbs, knife, and small board she used for chopping.  A skinned fennec hung ready from a nearby tree branch.

“I was thinking. . .” Thom ground his jaw and furrowed his brows. “That when we got back to Skyhold I could go out and find my old team.”  He sniffed.  “Tell ‘em sorry.”

Evelyn looked up at that.  “Want me to go with you?”

He shook his head vehemently.  “No.  No need for you to see that.”  He swallowed and rose from the now crackling fire.  “I should- It is something I should do on my own.  I created the mess, it’s my job to fix it.  If I can.”

Evelyn’s stomach roiled in sympathy.  She went over to him and kissed his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Just don’t let anyone slip a dagger between your ribs,” she said, voice barely over a whisper.

He tightened his arms around her and smiled into her hair.  “Not when I’ve got you waiting for me.”

 

**~*~**

 

 

 

> _Dear Thom,_
> 
> _Bull stopped by Skyhold with the Chargers for a short break between contracts.  The Herald’s Rest hasn’t been that loud in a long time.  Even Josephine joined us.  She passed out on the last night of their visit and got ale in her hair.  The look on her face when we woke her was priceless.  The entire tavern roared and she was carried back to the keep on Krem’s shoulders while the Chargers sang their battle song in a parade behind them.  You would have loved it.  Cullen hasn’t stopped teasing her._
> 
> _Skyhold seems even more empty now that they’re gone.  They came in like a sudden storm, a tidal wave of song and laughter, and now we sit in silence.  Maryden is gone, Cole with her.  It is not just me that is affected by the sudden quiet.  Cullen haunts the ramparts with a lost look on his face.  I don’t know what he’ll do when we disband.  The man has always had a structured organization to guide him, but now. . . He needs purpose.  I should talk to him, but I do not know how to broach the subject.  Over a game of chess, perhaps?  Or am I even the right person to talk to him?  Cassandra?  He respects her.  She is trying for Templar reform, a future without the lyrium leash, perhaps there is a place for him in this future?  I should write to her._
> 
> _Four servants have left in the last two weeks.  Cullen reports that the soldiers are growing restless.  Some are starting to ask about compensation.  Will they receive land?  Will opportunities be awarded them?  I have no answers for them.  Only the rulers of Thedas can answer those.  We do not own land to grant them.  Our treasury is full, so payment for services rendered is not an issue, but what happens to hundreds of men and women when an organization has no more use for them?_
> 
> _I miss you, Thom.  The bed is cold and empty without you here.  Skyhold is vast, and echoes in its emptiness._
> 
> _Have you given more thought to my father’s offer of land?  We could build something there.  A village, even.  Now there’s an idea for the soldiers!  Though there is not enough space for all._
> 
> _I am not sure how to proceed.  For the first time in my life I have a choice in how to live my life.  I can decide the direction I take.  Perhaps, perhaps we should decline father’s offer and forge our own path.  What say you?  Do you have any ideas?_
> 
> _I look forward to your return.  Be safe._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Eve_

 

**_~*~_ **

 

 

 

> _My Lady,_
> 
> _Good to hear Bull is up to his same old tricks.  He does good work, and his men respect him.  He had damn good stories.  Wish I had been there to see the Lady Josephine.  It sounds like a wild night._
> 
> _Talking to Cassandra about the commander is a good idea, but let the man decide his own fate.  He may look lost now, but he is strong.  He’ll find his way.  I wouldn’t bring it up with him, if I were you.  If he starts the conversation, listen, and only give advice if asked._
> 
> _Being on the road without you sure is strange.  It reminds me a lot of times I’d rather forget, to be honest.  That isn’t bloody well likely, though, considering what I’m doing out here.  It’s going as well as you’d expect, which is to say not very well.  My sorry’s are worth as much as shit.  No blades between the ribs, but I’ve been decked more than once.  I lost count at twelve, but I can take a punch.  They need to know that there’s a way to come back from anything, and I want to help them if I can.  I thought going up there on the gallows was difficult.  This is worse.  A hundred times worse._
> 
> _They need what you showed me.  I would like to continue with this sort of work.  After._
> 
> _Maybe. . .  Perhaps taking you father’s offer would be good?  We could teach people skills.  Valuable skills that would allow them to find legitimate work and gain a purpose; a sense of worth.  Some of the Inquisition soldiers who have skills to teach could settle there, if they wished._
> 
> _What do you think of that kind of life?  Could you be happy?_
> 
> _I think of you every day.  There is so much darkness in this world and you bring light to it.  You give me life.  To think. . .  I have a future.  A future with you at my side.  Anything is possible._
> 
> _Keep me updated on the Exalted Council.  Rumours are spreading and people are scared.  Scared people do stupid shit.  Our ambassador will be busy, no doubt._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _Ever at your pleasure,_
> 
> _Your Thom_
> 
> **_~*~_ **
> 
> _Dearest Evelyn,_
> 
> _I received your letter and have given your proposal much thought.  Edward agrees with me when I say that I would be happy to allow the south-east pasturage and neighbouring forest, up to the Crandon River to be settled by some of your soldiers.  This school seems like a sound idea and would help with the crowding in our prisons.  Your mother is scandalized, of course, but what else is new.  We’ll talk about it in depth when you come here.  And of course, we wish to meet Ser Rainier._
> 
> _Henry has returned to the Ostwick Circle.  He writes little, but from what I’ve gathered the withdrawals are difficult.  It pains me to know what my sons are going through.  I pray that this was the right choice for the Templar order._
> 
> _Maxwell is enjoying his new position in the Kirkwall guard.  Who is this girl, Adelaide, he says he is to marry?  I have never once heard him mention her.  Do you know her?  Your mother cannot find her name in the registries._
> 
> _Good luck, daughter.  You have rough waters ahead of you, as winds of change begin to sweep through Thedas.  If you need anything, you have only to ask._
> 
> _With love,_
> 
> _Father_
> 
>  

**~*~**

“Your move,” Cullen said, leaning back in his chair with a grin.  “You’re losing your touch.”  
Evelyn stared at the board and frowned.  His queen was going to overtake her king within three moves and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. 

Cullen chuckled.  “Give up?”

She reached out and turned her king onto its side.  “I concede, Commander.”

They both looked at the toppled chess piece in silence.  

Cullen sighed. “Have you heard from Cassandra?”

Evelyn shook her head.  “Not yet.”  She picked up the bottle of wine and lifted her chin in the direction of his empty glass.  He nodded.  “Soon, no doubt.”  She refilled her own glass after filling his and set the bottle back down on the table next to the remains of their meal.

Cullen took a slow sip.  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after?”

“Father is granting us land.  We were thinking of starting a training school, for. . .  Well, for the downtrodden.  Give them skills that they can use out in the world.”  She smiled.  “It’s Thom’s idea, but a worthy one.  It’s next to one of my favourite forests.  I can be happy there.”  She took a deep drink and fingered the stem of her glass.  “You?”

“I should go home.  Visit my sister.”  He snorted.  “She’ll have my head if I don’t.  And after that. . .  I’m not sure.  Cassandra offered me a position in her new Templar order, but-“ he shook his head.  “I’m done with that part of my life.  First Ferelden, then Kirkwall. . .  No.  I’d like to help the old Templars who have lost their access to lyrium.  I-  I know how it feels and would have benefited from someone to guide me through the process.”

Evelyn smiled.  “Another worthy goal.”

Cullen laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yes, well, it just seems right.  Maybe I’ll get a dog.  I’ve always wanted a dog.”

 

**~*~**

 

 

> _Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste,_
> 
> _Nobles!  They are unable to think of a future further than the end of their nose.  The Exalted Council cannot be held at bay any longer, I am afraid.  It will be held at the Winter Palace in a couple of months.  Expect the formal invitation soon. . . if anyone can agree on the style of script used._
> 
> _I want you to know that whatever happens, you have my support._
> 
> _The commander has rejected my offer, and if I am to be honest, his refusal did not come as a surprise.  He has seen too much, and I do not begrudge him that.  The Chantry will aid him in his efforts, for he pursues a noble cause.  The Templars have suffered in silence for too long.  It is time that wrong was righted._
> 
> _I will see you soon at the Winter Palace.  Be well, and travel safe._
> 
> _Her Divine Victoria_
> 
> _P.S. Have you read Varric’s new book?  It is glorious._

Evelyn set Cassandra’s letter down on her desk and bit her top lip.

It was happening, then.  The time had come.

She looked around her quarters; her quarters for not much longer.  So many memories dwelled within this room.  Her life had changed a dozen times by actions taken and words exchanged within the enclosure of these walls.  Love.  Tears.  Laughter.  Distress.  Soon, Skyhold would be empty, bereft of activity and forgotten to time until some new rag tag group found shelter within its ancient foundations.  How long, she wondered, how long would it wait for its new family?

She closed her eyes and sat quietly, forcing herself to take deep and measured breaths.  Her eyes stung and her head began to throb.  Her chair screeched against the stone floor as she stood.  She stalked out onto the balcony, desperate for the bracing chill of the mountain air.

She had never wanted to be the Herald of Andraste.  She had never asked to be Inquisitor, but now that this part of her life was drawing to a close, she was loath to give it up.  Skyhold had become home. 

Evelyn leaned forward on the railing and gazed out into the mountains.  She was going to miss this view. 

With a swallow, she pushed herself back upright.  She had a letter to write.  Thom would want to know that it was time. 

Their time.


	45. Home

Evelyn closed the door of her assigned chambers and leaned against it with a sigh.  Her head ached, her hand throbbed, and her stomach gurgled.  The little cakes served during the council session had done little to curb her hunger. 

One day at a time.

Soon. 

Soon, she could get the Fade out of the Winter Palace.  As soon as this bickering was over and done with, she and Thom could embark on their new venture.  Before going back to Skyhold to oversee the dismantling of the Inquisition, they would be travelling to Ostwick to solidify their plans and sign the necessary paperwork.  Varric had assured them of a bunk on his ship, and promised they could continue to Ostwick after he disembarked at Kirkwall.  His steward was not particularly keen on lending out the Viscount’s ship, but Varric handled the fellow with his usual optimistic irreverence.

With another sigh, she pushed off the door and unbuttoned her dress jacket.  Josephine never did have the damned thing remade in a softer fabric like she had asked.  Evelyn suspected the oversight was in retaliation for swearing off gowns after that gold silk nightmare.  She tossed the jacket over the back of the gilded chaise lounge and untucked the cotton chemise she wore underneath.

“And there she is.”

She whirled around, and smiled at the sight of Thom in the doorway of the adjoining room.

He returned her smile.  “I missed you.”

Evelyn’s face lit up into a large grin and she reached out a hand.  “Shut up and get over here.”

He bridged the gap between them in a few long strides and gathered her into his arms.  She breathed in his familiar scent in a long inhale before meeting his rough lips with her own.    His hair was damp, and his face soft and smooth from a recent shave.  He smelled of cedar and iron, with a mix of lemon scented soap.  She pressed her cheek against his and he stroked her sides.

“I have to say, that while I appreciated the letters, this is much better,” he murmured into her neck.

“I missed you,” she said.  “Next time, take me with you.”

“There will be no need for there to be a next time.  It’d take the Maker Himself to pry me away from you now.” He smiled and kissed her forehead.  “Anyway, nice to be back, though I’m not sure what I think of this council.”

She groaned and sank down into the chaise lounge.  “I know exactly what I think of it.  It’s a big waste of time.  But you know Orlesians.  . .”  She made a face. “The Fereldens have had no problem barking up a racket either.”

Thom chuckled and sat down next to her.  “How much longer, do you think?”

“Until the world falls a part, most like.”

He leaned in and kissed her again.  She smiled against his lips.

“I’ll wait,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, “for as long as it takes.”  He twirled a strand of her hair that had escaped the ribbon around his forefinger.

He jumped when Evelyn hissed and jolted as her arm seared with pain.  Her other hand grasped Thom’s thigh as she squeezed her eyes shut.  He pulled her against him and winced into her hair.

“I’ve got you.”

She buried her face into his shoulder and bit down on the epaulet of his formal jacket.  The flesh of her arm burned and the green Elvhen power popped and hissed.  She cried out and convulsed in Thom’s arms.

 

Thom waited as she rode the pain out.  His stomach churned as she struggled to keep back a scream, her body trembling against his.  The mark had gotten worse since he had last seen her.  He had kept an ear out for Solas while he’d been out on the road and asked questions here and there, hoping to find him for Evelyn’s sake, but the elf had vanished.  Leliana was just as perplexed, and that was troubling.  It was nigh impossible to hide from Leliana’s web of informants and sleeper agents.  It had to be more than the threat of the Circle tower that kept Solas away. 

Evelyn sobbed into his shoulder, and he slid a hand under her arm so he could wrap his own about her waist.  He stroked her back and closed his eyes, cheek pressed against the top of her head.  He held her until the shuddering stopped and she pulled away with a sniff.

She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her chemise and gave him a wavering smile.  His heart lurched in response.  Perhaps someone at the Circle would know what to do.

“I’m hungry,” she said quietly.

“Then let’s get you something to eat.”  He got up and pulled the tasseled bell-pull near the bedroom door.

“Thom?”

“Yes?”  He began to unbutton his stiff formal coat and the top few buttons of his collared shirt.

“What should we build first?  In our town?  Father requires that we build a mill on the river, he wants a logging camp there, but that won’t be until next year at the soonest.”

He looked up and watched as she pulled off her boots.  He hung his jacket on the ornate coat rack and sat down on the stool next to the door to pull off his own dress boots.  He frowned and wriggled life back into his toes.  Someone had washed and darned his socks while he had bathed and received a shave.  “A hall, I think.  Everyone needs a roof over their head.  It’ll be close and personal for a while, I’m afraid.”

Evelyn nodded.  “Timber?  Well, it’d have to be.  Stone will come later.”

“Aye,” he agreed.  He set the boots on the small mat and moved toward the fire place.  “We’ll find enough stone when we start plowing fields, no doubt.  For foundations.”

He smiled when she pressed herself against his back, her fingers interlocking on his stomach.  He took the poker in hand and prodded the logs in the grate.  Sparks swirled, and ash fluttered to the hearth.

“If we’re lucky, mother will still be in Kirkwall when we get to Ostwick.”

Thom laughed.  “No sympathy for your brother?”  He set the poker back down and turned in her arms.  “I’ll have to meet her eventually.”

“No, you don’t,” Evelyn groaned.  “It’d be best for everyone.  Me in particular.”

A soft knock came from the door and Evelyn disentangled herself from him to let him answer it.  A servant, a human, Thom noted with surprise, stood expectantly.

“The Inquisitor would like a meal,” Thom said.

“For the two of us!  Make sure there’s wine!” Evelyn called from behind the blue damask changing screen.

Thom chuckled.  “A meal for the two of us, and a bottle of wine.  Antivan spiced wine, if you have it.”  He knew how much she liked the flavour of cloves.  Spiced wine was not his favourite, but it was what she liked.  He could live with his mouth tasting like the inside of a chantry if it meant she was happy.

“And no cakes!  I need something substantial.”

Thom looked at the servant with an arched brow.  A ghost of a smile brushed the young man’s lips before he nodded. 

“Yes, Messer.  Anything else, Messer?”

Thom shook his head.  “That’ll be all.”  He glanced over his shoulder.  Evelyn was still busy behind the screen, the wall flickered a sickly green behind her.  He turned back to the servant and lowered his voice to a whisper.   “And a pot of elfroot tea.”

“As you wish, Messer.”  The servant bowed and backed away from the doorway.  Thom closed the door behind him.

Evelyn emerged from behind the screen in her fennec-lined dressing robe, rubbing her forehead with a grimace.

“Your shoulders and neck bothering you?” he asked.

She nodded with furrowed brows.  “Yeah.  Tension headache.”

Thom looked around the room for her bags.  “Did you pack your salve?”

She scowled.  “No.  I didn’t think to.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Thom shook his head at her.  “I’ll be right back.”

He left through the doorway that led to his room and rifled through his pack.  He pulled out a wooden jar from a side pocket and unscrewed the scuffed lid.  The cream had started to separate, but a good stir with his finger seemed to do the trick.  Thom returned to Evelyn’s room to find her back on the chaise lounge.

“Here,” he said, sitting next to her, “let me help you.”

She smiled at him before pulling her robe down to expose her shoulders and neck.  He scooped up a small amount of ointment and rubbed it between his palms to warm it up before applying it to her knotted muscles.

“You carried that with you, the entire time?” she asked as his slid his hands along the length of her shoulder blades.

His lips tugged upward.  “Someone had to remember to bring it, and I knew it wouldn’t be you.”

She sighed, and relaxed, slouching into him.  He worried at the muscles running along her neck at the base of her skull with his thumbs.

“What would I do without you?” she whispered.

“Be cranky with a headache, no doubt.”

She laughed.  “Very true.  This cannot be over soon enough.  I’m ready, Thom.  I’m so ready for this to be done with.”  She moaned as he put more pressure behind the massage.

“Soon,” he said.  “We’ll be home soon enough.”  His voice caught at the word home, and he cleared his throat as she snuggled closer to him.

Home.

He still did not quite believe it.

 

**~*~**

“Oh, shit!  Damn it!” Evelyn hissed.  The mark seared into her hand, the pain travelling up her arm and into her shoulder.  Her lips curled back into a snarl and she glared at her bickering advisors. 

“We save Ferelden, and they’re angry,” she growled.  “We save Orlais, and they’re angry.  We close the breach- Twice!”  She threw her hands up, ignoring the searing sensation cascading into her chest and squeezing her heart.  Her chest tightened and she swallowed hard.  “And now my own hand wants to kill me.”  Her nostrils flared.  “Could one thing in this fucking world just stay fixed?” she growled through clenched teeth.

Josephine took a step back, her mouth open. 

Evelyn swallowed and took in a deep breath.  “I need to get to the viddasala.”  She shook her head at them.  “You can all fight amongst yourselves once I’m-“ She sighed and took a turn looking each of them in the eye.  “Once I’m back.”

She spun on her heel and headed out to find her squad.  Josephine asked her something about the idiots of the Exalted Council and Evelyn paused at the door.

She snorted and shook her head.  “Tell them,” she said with a wave of her hand.  “Tell them I’m off to stop a war.  They can wet their trousers and point fingers while I do the dirty work they’re too scared to.”

She stormed out into the courtyard and Thom stepped out from behind a painted arch where he had been lounging against a wall.  He knew that look, he’d seen it many times when she’d come up to their room after a long meeting in the Skyhold war room.

“I take it that didn’t go well,” he said, matching her stride.

Evelyn scowled.  “I’m sick of this, Thom.  I’m bloody well done.  After this, let’s just get away.  Give all of this shit up.  Let somebody else deal with the world’s problems.”

Thom snorted and reached for her hand.  “You’d do it all over again in a heart beat.”

Evelyn squeezed his hand in reply.  “Go get Bull.  I’ll find Dorian.  We’re going back in.”

 

**~*~**

 

“You all know what this is,” she said, holding the book aloft.  She circled the floor so she could glare at each noble assembled in turn.  “A writ from Divine Justinia authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.”  She had been terrified of this book and everything it meant when the Seeker, now Divine, had first slammed it on the table in front of Roderick. 

“We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order.  With or without anyone’s approval.”  She came to a stop and stared up at the Exalted Council.  “It wasn’t a formally authorized treaty that saved Ferelden’s people.  It wasn’t careful diplomacy that ended your inane civil war.  It was never about the organization.  It was about people doing what was necessary.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save.  Again.”

And she dropped it.  The book landed with a satisfying thump.  “Effective immediately,” she said as she strode from the hall, “the Inquisition is disbanded.” 

She pushed her way through crowds and headed straight for the stables, where Thom waited with their readied horses and travel packs.  She changed into her leathers in the cover of an empty stall, and left the formal jacket and trousers where they fell.  A sealed letter to Josephine was in the left coat pocket, just in case the ambassador did not find the one Evelyn had placed inside the bound writ.  It took her a couple of tries to mount Wicked Grace, having only one hand since Solas’ emergency amputation of it.  She was thankful for Thom’s silence on the matter as she was not ready to address the loss of her arm, or the inability to draw a bow. 

“Did you find passage?” she asked.  The last thing she wanted to do was wait for Varric.  As the Viscount of Kirkwall, there was protocol he had to follow, however much he hated it.

He nodded.  “Aye, but it’ll be a push to make it.  Had to pay extra for him to wait.”

“Of course,” she said with a snort.  She let out a slow breath.  “Let’s get out of here.”

They passed without the usual fanfare through the gates of the Winter Palace, and she chuckled.  All she had to do was take off her finery and no one paid her the slightest amount of attention.  She was free.

Sure, Solas and the Fade were going to rip the world apart, but at least she did not have to deal with the Exalted Council ever again.  Without the formality of the Inquisition, she could do as she pleased.  She was still the Herald of Andraste; she had clout of her own.  There were many who would follow her if she donned the mantle and made a call to assemble. 

But for now, what mattered was to catch their ship to Ostwick.

 

 **~*~**  

 

 “This is a bit different than what we agreed upon,” Bann Edwick Trevelyan said as he leaned back in his padded wooden chair.

Evelyn nodded.  “I understand that, but the situation has changed.”

Her father looked between her and Thom, his attention settling on her missing arm.  Her ghost fingers twitched in reflex and she winced at the sensation.  She caught her father quickly averting his eyes before turning to her brother.  Evelyn took a sip of her wine and blinked.

“What do you think, Edward?” he asked with an arch of a brow.

Evelyn’s eldest brother, and the heir to the Trevelyan title, wrinkled his nose.  “It’s. . .  It’s an incredible story, Evelyn.  This Solas being a god.”

“He’s not a god.”  She chuckled, despite her mood.  “Damn well close, but he claims no such title.”

Her father smiled into his hand.  Her heart flickered in hope.

“Do you think you can persuade him to change his mind?” The Bann asked with a signal to his steward to refill everyone’s glasses.  Nolen, steward of the Trevelyan estate since before Evelyn had been born, picked up a silver pitcher of wine and started with her father’s cup.

Thom snorted.  “Good luck.  First, we’ll have to find him.  And second,” he said with a shake of his head, “he’s a man with an agenda.  No wonder he was so good at Diamondback.  He’s a professional bluffer.”

Evelyn raised her glass to be refilled.  “But he’s not without reason.  If there was another way. . .”

“Do you have any ideas about that?” Edwick asked.

“Not yet, no.”  She took a sip of the wine.  It was good old Free Marches wine, from the family country estate, she thought.  It had been some time since she had last tasted it.  It was less robust than the Antivan wine she had grown fond of, but it was comforting.  “But there has to be something we can do.  Cassandra, sorry, Divine Victoria, has promised her help.  The Circle is looking into it.”

  
Her brother and father looked at each other a moment before Edwick gave a slow nod.  “I believe you.  You have already achieved miracles, why not another?  So be it.  Found your town.  Fill it with your soldiers, and have your school.  Host whatever secret meetings you have need of.  Just, be discreet, and if, for whatever reason, you need to pick a banner up again, inform me first so we can prepare for the political fallout.  I am sure I do not have to go into detail of what will happen when I’m accused of raising an army.  Remember, you’ll be a mayor, not an Inquisitor.”

Evelyn made a face and took another drink of wine.  “Politics.  I’ll never be free of it, will I?”

Her father laughed.  “You’re a Trevelyan.  Up until recently you commanded one of the largest armies in Thedas and answered to no one, but yourself.  Whether you like it or not, politics will always be a part of your life, Herald of Andraste.”

Evelyn cringed as the title passed through his lips.  It was one thing for a servant to say it, but quite another when it was her own father.

Edward stood from his seat and clapped his hands together.  “Then it is done.  If you’ll excuse me, I should go.  I promised Evette I would take her out riding in the morning.”

Evelyn grinned.  “I am sorry we arrived so late.  I look forward to meeting my namesake.”

“She’s definitely got your spirit,” he said with a laugh.  “She already has a toy bow.  Her mother has been filling her head with stories about you.” He patted her shoulder.  “It was nice to see you again, Eve.  We’ve missed you.  Ser Rainier, it was a pleasure to meet you.  Good night.”

Bann Edwick nodded farewell to his son and then smiled at the steward.  “That will be all for tonight, Nolen.  Thank you.”

“As you wish, Messer,” the grey-haired man said with a bow.  “Good eve, My Lord, Lady Trevelyan, Ser Rainier.”

The three who remained in the study sat unspeaking for a while after the door shut behind the steward.  Each of them stared into the marble fireplace, lost in their own thoughts.

Evelyn’s glass was nearly empty when her father broke the hush.  “I cannot pretend to understand everything you have been through, Evelyn.”

Evelyn looked up at him and waited.

“And I am sure there are parts of this story you have omitted, and I cannot say I blame you, but I want you to know that I have never been so proud of someone as I am of you.  You have achieved the unachievable.  You will become a legend, whether you want to or not.  I have not always been fair with you, and I am sorry.  I regret forcing you into the Chantry, and I hope. . .”  He frowned and looked down into his cup. “I hope you can forgive me, Evelyn.  You did not belong there and I knew it.”

Evelyn swallowed and closed her eyes.  “I won’t lie to you. I was furious when you sent me off.  I felt betrayed.”  She took in a deep breath and fingered the stem of her wine glass.  She opened her eyes and stared down at the Orlesian carpet.  There were a few burn marks from stray sparks from the fire.  The ink stain she had caused as a child was still half hidden under her father’s chair. 

She looked up.  “I was angry about where it led me, but I came to terms with it, and well, I probably wouldn’t have ended up at the Enclave if you hadn’t shunted me off into the cloisters.”  She felt her ghost hand make a fist and she clenched her jaw.  “Corypheus would have won, or Solas.  Someone.”  She grunted and glanced at the sleeve of her tunic where it folded and tucked over the end of her elbow.  “At any rate, we’d all be dead.”  She met her father’s hooded eyes and gave him a small smile.  “I forgive you, just. . . Just promise me you won’t push that life on Evette, not if she does not wish it.  Duty is all well and good, but it should not be a prison sentence.” 

She reached down between their two chairs and grasped Thom’s hand.  His thumb ran over her knuckles in response.

Edwick swallowed.  “That is fair, and I acknowledge your point.  As for Evette, well,” he chuckled.  “You will not have to worry about her future.  Edward has every intention of naming her his heir.  She will have duty, as we all do, but it will be a comfortable one.  I cannot promise that your mother will not attempt to meddle in the girl’s affairs, but I can promise to keep her from having direct influence.” 

Evelyn’s father’s gaze trailed down to their clasped hands.  He shifted his weight in his chair and met Thom’s eyes.  “Speaking of which, Evelyn’s mother will want to know what your intentions with Evelyn are.”

Evelyn snorted into her cup and coughed.  Thom dropped her hand and squirmed in his seat.

“I care for Evelyn very much, Ser Trevelyan.”  He cleared his throat.  “I’ve made a mess of my life, I will admit that, but I am determined to make it better, for her sake as much as my own.  As for what I think you’re asking, we haven’t discussed-“

“Yes,” Evelyn said quietly.

Thom blinked.

“I’ll marry you, if you’ll have me.”  She bit her lip and watched him carefully.

“If I’ll have you?”  Thom laughed.  “Maker, Evelyn, you need not ask.  You are my soul, my light, and my heart.”

Evelyn beamed, her chest swelled, and a giggle spilled up and out of her.  She cast a glance at her smiling father before leaning over to kiss Thom on the cheek.  “But before mother gets back.  Just sign the papers.”

Thom folded her hand back into his.

Her father nodded.  “That can be done.  When will you be leaving?”

“In a few days, I’m afraid.  We must get back to Skyhold.  Disbanding the Inquisition the way I did didn’t pave a smooth road.”  Evelyn grimaced.  “I did receive word from Leliana.  Her people are currently overseeing things until I get there.  The soldiers will need to be paid, and the ones coming with us need to be organized.  And let’s not forget the soldiers who’re posted out in the Wastes, and Ferelden.”

“Alright,” her father said.  “I am sure Byron will oversee the process.  Edward and I will witness.”

“Bann Byron Trevelyan-Lornen,” Evelyn supplied to Thom who had arched his brows.  “Emmerson’s father.” She nodded at her father. “I think that would be fitting, if he’s willing.”

Bann Trevelyan stood.  “Then so be it.  I’ll see you on the morrow.  We have much to do in preparation before your departure.”

~*~

Soft rain pattered on the canvas above them.  Evelyn inched closer to Thom’s warmth and draped her arm over his bare chest. 

“I’m getting better with that crossbow,” she whispered, not wanting her voice to carry out to the neighbouring tents of ex-soldiers and Inquisition support staff.  Bianca had appeared the week before with a crossbow that fit over her stump, sending Evelyn into a fit of tears.  The dwarf only stayed long enough to fit the beautifully crafted bow to Evelyn’s arm and teach her how it worked before she left, muttering something about only having so much time to get to Kirkwall before her husband was due home.  Evelyn had been taking the contraption out into the woods every day since, if only for a half glass at a time.

Thom rolled onto his side and pressed his forehead against hers, the fur falling down his chest.  Evelyn pulled the fur back up to her chin and grinned at him. 

“You’ll be striking fear into the hearts of deer in no time,” he murmured.  “The hall roof should be finished in a few days.”

The hall was a simple structure comprising of a large single room with a loft in the rafters and two large fireplaces on each side.  Partitions would be added to help quell drafts, but it would suffice for now.  It would be a tight fit for a hundred people to squeeze into, and they hoped to have a longhouse built before fall.  The thought of spending a cramped winter did not appeal to anyone, least of all Evelyn.  She wanted the loft bedroom for her and Thom’s own.  One of the old Inquisition marquees worked as a kitchen for now, and there were some of the other tents Evelyn had saved from the auction in Val Royeaux.  They would manage.

“Herald’s Rest,” Thom said.

Evelyn rolled her eyes.  “Do we really need to name it that?”

Thom chuckled as his hand slid down her thigh.  “It’s the perfect name, and besides, try convincing the crowd out there otherwise.”  He lifted himself up on one arm and trailed his lips along her collarbone. 

Evelyn shifted onto her back and tugged at him to follow.  As he leaned over her, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Home,” she said, as he grazed her ear with his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.
> 
> There we have it, folks.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read this, commented and given me kudos along the way. You've all made this first experience a wonderful one. Special shout out to Zendelai for putting up with my anxiety-ridden messages and texts over the past year.
> 
> Sheesh. I can't quite believe it's over. I'll miss these guys.


End file.
